Spin Cycle
by Guns and Drums
Summary: "To this day Paul has tried to explain to me several times what imprinting is like. He said it happens in that instant you first really make eye contact with the person. Everything changes." Paul/Rach. CC. How to make imprinting work, without making everyone else you know a  disturbed or b  hate you.
1. Chapter 1

My life went through the spin cycle on January 1, 2006.

I was home from the U of Washington. For good. I'd graduated early thanks to the accelerated program and had spent as much time as I could visiting my friends before I resigned myself to my own home.

I'm well aware that makes me sound like a bitch. But it's really just because I'm a coward. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to be around them sometimes. And it wasn't because I didn't love either of them. Jacob and Billy Black were truly the two most important people in my life. But things were strange.

Dad. What can I possibly say about my father? He's one of those people you meet and can never forget. He's funny because he doesn't know how bad his own jokes are. But he'll be the first to surprise you with a snappy comment when someone presents the opportunity. He has a gift for story telling that hasn't changed since I was a child. Even now, at twenty years old, I can see pictures and images in my mind whenever he talks. It's like a projector connects him to his audience; he gives us his words and his sight.

Jacob is my stupid, lovable, awkward, gangly little brother. I'll always remember how we used to trade broccoli spears for diced carrots when Mom's back was turned during dinner. I remember him asking me when he was twelve what all pink things under the bathroom sink were for. I know you could back over him with a tractor and he wouldn't say a word but he'll cry if you pinch him hard enough. He's allergic to _Gain_ laundry detergent – we found out one summer – after he walked around scratching every bit of skin he could reach for seven whole days. We had to take him to the doctor in Forks and he was a raging ball of calamine lotion for the next week.

But when I come home from school these are not the boys I find anymore. Billy is much the same, but it's like he's on slow-mo these days. He forgets more things, sometimes can't remember the date. He just moves slower. He talks about the ache in his bones. He's getting older. And that very concept scares the ever living crap out me. I don't have my mom anymore. I haven't for a while. I love my dad and when he's gone, I'll be an orphan. Twenty something, thirty something – I don't care. I'll be orphan.

I can't imagine what'll happen when he goes. Rebecca is out in Hawaii or Guam or god knows where but what about my baby brother? He's sixteen right now. I know La Push is like an enormous family – I lived here too – but Billy is all Jacob has in that house. What could I possibly do to fix or even help a situation like that?

I try not to think about it, because it just makes my hands twitchy and my stomach roll.

And my baby brother? Yeah, he's not so much a baby anymore. He _is _only sixteen but he's a _big_ sixteen year old. He has to duck going between rooms – something he's only just getting used to because that bruise on his forehead is still fading. And he's wide. I remember when I was home over the summer – less than six months ago – he was just a string bean and I could fit my arms all the way around him. Now _he_ hugs _me_ because he's so tall and all-encompassing.

In short, he's not a boy anymore. Instead of playing X-Box for 72 consecutive hours with little Quil Ateara and Embry Call (who, by the way, are not little anymore either), he's turned into a body builder. He's bulky, like no real sixteen year old ever is. His face is older too. It's square and angular – he doesn't have that roundish face with the big toothy grin anymore. Sometimes when he's not paying attention, I'll glance over at him and try and find the vestiges of my little brother but I get too distracted by the creases at his eyes and the firm set of his jaw. It scares me a little because this really came out of nowhere.

Becca and I had always tried to make sure – despite the violent car accident that took our mother – that Jacob wasn't not forced to grow up prematurely like we had. It was eventually too much for her and she got married and moved away. I'm not saying that was the sole motivation for her to marry, but it makes me wonder sometimes. Eventually I went to college and, yes, I sort of dreaded coming home sometimes. But it was only because I couldn't stand to come to a house that just wasn't the same. Now matter Jacob's own personal level of warmth and happiness, the house dimmed and became colder in my eyes with each passing vacation.

And like I said, his little dorky friends aren't little anymore – though I think they'll always be dorks. Quil, Embry, some older boys and Sam Uley – whom _I _graduated with – are around the house all the time. And they all share these same traits. They're big and they just look _so angry_ all the time – despite their constant jokes. Not this raging and throwing things kind of anger. A bitter, sad, resentful anger. Like they're all resigned. They stay together – even outside the house they all go everywhere together.

Sam seems to be the ring-leader, though what he wants with such young kids is strange to me. Sam's at least twenty or twenty one. I don't understand how he spends so much time with my younger brother. The whole group of them spans the ages. Jake and his friends seem to be youngest. I met a boy Jared who's eighteen and I've seen others with him. I don't think it's _bad_ per se. I just think it's strange. There's more happening than meets the eye, I'm sure. Jacob won't say anything. I just hope it's nothing stupid.

But that New Year's Eve, I figured it all out and fell down the rabbit hole.

There was a bonfire down on first beach that night and yours truly was begged to come – because I happen to be a champion bonfire builder. No one else has ever really had the patience to stack the wood like I do. But if you can manage it, the fire burns tall and lasts for a long time, never collapsing on itself.

The sun was just beginning to set over the ocean and I was precariously stacking the bleached out driftwood in my prize winning pattern. A girl, Emily – Sam's girlfriend - was there. She helped me gather supplies and set everything up. The man-child crew were shoving each other into the sand and oncoming waves – in _January_ – while Emily and I coaxed the fire to life.

I watched the sparks sizzle and snap as they crawled up the wood pile. My eyes were glued to the pyre as it grew. Emily tossed a few twigs in now and then, while Sam brought down a cooler of hotdogs and soda. I could see some of the boys run up the beach to help others that had just arrived. Jacob sat with Emily and I; and another one I'd never met joined Sam a few feet away.

"Oh, Rach," Jacob said, "this is Paul. I don't know if you've met him yet. I don't think he's been by the house. Paul, you idiot, say hi."

Paul and Sam were only about three feet away from us but obviously fully ensconced in their own near silent conversation at the time. "Wha?" Paul turned his head around with a chip halfway to his mouth. "Hi."

That was it. He just looked at me for a moment, waved at me and then kinda pushed Sam across the sand and towards the line of cars on the road. "Paul, what are you doing?"

"I need to talk to you."

To this day Paul has tried to explain to me several times what imprinting is like. He said it happens in that instant you first really make eye contact with the person. All of a sudden, you can't breathe for a moment and all the faces around you blur and fog. That one person is thrown into stark contrast; you see every beautiful detail about them. Every move of hair, twitch of a smile, movement of fingers.

And to this day I don't understand. The first time Paul sat down and tried to verbalize it, I flipped out, thinking he was seeing into every pore and imperfection on me. After disentangling me from my sweatshirt where I was hiding, he told me it wasn't like that. What I saw as oddities – scars, birthmarks, fly away hairs – he saw as parts of the greater whole. Like a painting, when examined closely it's nothing but a bunch of colored splotches - these amorphous blobs and shapes – but when viewed as the whole they become master works of art. If anything were missing it wouldn't be the same. That helped a little bit.

At the moment though, I had no idea what was going on. I honestly thought Paul was a bit slow. "OH-kay!" I said quietly as he and Sam retreated.

Emily just laughed, "Don't mind them. They're all so used to each other that girls kinda throw them for a minute."

I chuckled quietly with her. It did make sense. Jacob just stared after the two, his eyes boring into the back of their heads like he was trying to read their minds. Eventually he just shook his head and stood to help with the food. As I turned around to gather the other fire supplies that I'd brought, a large body plopped carefully in Jacob's spot. It was Paul. He just looked at me for a moment and took a deep breath. "Hi, I'm Paul. Sorry about earlier. I'm just… Okay so I don't really have an excuse. I'm just Paul."

"It's nice to meet you _just Paul_. I'm Rachel. It's okay. We're all a little weird sometimes." I smiled because Paul was kind of funny – I'm not going to lie, that was a super apology. I don't think it was intentional; he just seemed to not have much of a brain filter. Like he couldn't help being honest. I picked up my bag and put it in the sand before me.

"So you built this thing?" he asked. "I've only heard rumors of your fire-taming prowess."

"I did indeed," I nodded. "And I'm going to make it a little cooler."

I went to the food table and grabbed the roll of paper towels – it's not like any of these boys used them anyways. "Really?" he asked dubiously as I returned.

"Sure," I pulled out a length of paper towel. "Hold this?" I asked. He took the length and held it before him making a little dip in the middle. "Emily," I called across the fire circle. "What's your favorite color?"

"What?" she seemed to be absorbed in her own thoughts.

"What's your favorite color?" I asked again.

"Green," she said decidedly.

I reached into my bag and pulled a small canister out. I twisted the top off the jar and poured a handful of its contents into the paper towel bowl. I replaced the cap and the jar and took the paper towel sack from Paul. I bunched up the top and knotted it up, making a good, solid bundle.

The rest had now made their way down from the street. There were some boys and a few girls around the fire. I also saw some kids from Forks at the table. I could hear the tear of plastic as hotdogs were passed around. The sun was now completely gone from the sky, leaving nothing but inky blue and speckled white stars.

I tossed the little package into the fire and a shock of bright vibrate green flooded the bonfire, momentarily replacing the orange warmth with its eerie, aquatic glow as it cast shadows on the faces close by. I watched Paul's eyes widen infinitesimally and then his head cock to the side. He looked over at me, "Very nice."

"Thank you," I responded, "it happens when you're a science geek."

A series of hotdogs was passed down towards me followed by a half empty six pack of Pepsi. I watched Leah Clearwater and Embry argue with each other and the radio before it finally crackled to life. I sat on the sand and leaned against the log behind me. I heard Paul slump down beside me a moment later.

"I've also heard rumors of your cooking skills," he told me, "and if you don't move that thing it's definitely going to burst into flame." He pointed towards my hotdog.

I know other people perceive it as being rude but Paul is completely honest – no matter the situation. I don't deny there are _many_ instances where that is not ideal. But I swear he can't help himself. I know he upsets other people sometimes. Jared insists that I really have no idea because Paul thinks light shines from my every cell tissue, so I never get the full effect. But I beg to differ.

The thing about imprinting is that it's absolute. Not perfect. Paul may see me in whatever way he does but that doesn't alter my own vision of him. We've had a few screaming matches over his insensitive remarks to other people. I love him, I truly do, but I'm also trying desperately to improve his social skills.

As far as I see it, this whole imprint thing is as much biological as it is emotional. Yeah, Paul's genes picked me because we'd make good wolf-babies, but his heart certainly had some say too. And sometimes I use that to my advantage. Paul's not always willing to see reason.

You see, Sam is his Alpha and has ultimate control over what he does, but the amount of influence I hold over that man is inconceivable. We argue, we yell, I throw things at him and he just takes it all. But he _hates_ arguing with me, absolutely loathes it. He's more inclined to want to fix things with me. If he is mad at Jared, Colin, Brady or even occasionally Sam it just comes to some kind of ridiculous man-child throw down. At that point in time all Paul wants is to beat the crap out of someone. Logic is not at the top of his priority list.

I love him. But he's an idiot.

If it's _me_ he has an issue with, he just storms around all red and huffy for a bit before he sits down, holding his head in his hands. I just stare at him across the room, sitting in my hip with – what he calls – my "I'm waiting" face. He digs his thumbs into his temples, leans back in the chair and the anger is gone. The hard, creased exterior of his face, the heat in his eyes all dies down and he's ready to talk about it.

It's a process. That's how it happens every time. Sometimes he doesn't always seem to realize what he says affects people the way it does. I don't believe he does it out of any malice or ill-intent, he just doesn't understand that not everyone wants or needs blunt honesty all the time. He's not just this ogre with some walnut sized brain, there's a lot more there.

Paul likes it when people are honest with him. He doesn't like anything sugarcoated, which I can tell you was strange getting used to.

I ate my crispy hotdog – just the way I liked it – sans the fiery conflagration and watched as people began to disperse around the beach. A few of the boys were actually deranged enough to want to surf. In La Push. In January. I don't deny the waves looked amazing, but they'd all be hypothermic by the end. Sam and Emily were sitting on the other side of the fire talking quietly and there were some Forks kids on the rocks behind us. My legs began to cramp up from sitting still for so long. I got up and stretched, making my way towards the road, deciding I wanted to dig out another sweatshirt from the recesses of my trunk.

I walked around the craggy rocks and popped my trunk. All manner of junk was in my trunk: jumper cables, a lunch box, an umbrella, my spare tire, an empty coke bottle, a pile of used textbooks, the jack, a folding chair and an old backpack. No sweatshirt. Fantastic. I stood upright and looked around. There was a boy and girl from Forks sitting on the hood of the car down the other end of the long line of cars parked on the road. I saw down the short rocky slump that lead to the beach. Sam and Emily were the only ones at the campfire. I wondered if the others were crazy enough to go surfing as well.

I leaned back against my open truck and was trying to form an alternate plan of warmth. Being away from the campfire certainly was not helping the situation. I shivered once and ran my hands over my arms – now covered in goose bumps. That's when I saw Paul mosey up the sandy path towards my old Buick. I smiled because I was starting to like this socially awkward goofball.

His mouth smiled but his brows scrunched together when he saw another one of my compulsive shakes. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I replied, "Just a little chilly, but this whole being-away-from-the-fire-thing isn't helping."

"Wait here," he said before jogging down the line of cars. I listened to lilting, crackling rhythm from the radio. It was still down on the beach and only served as background up here. Paul returned moments later with a dark bundle in his hands. "Here, try this."

I reached toward his extended hand, my fingers brushed against his for a moment and I found his flesh scalding. In comparison to my own frigid temperature, it almost stung. He perched next to me against my open trunk. "Thank you," I responded. I noted that this felt a tiny bit strange, but then another shiver wracked my body and I all but dove into the sweatshirt. It almost hit my knees and I had to roll up the sleeves before I could wiggle my fingers back out. I sat on the edge of my trunk next to Paul, who seriously seemed to be emanating warmth – I must've been _really_ cold.

"Not that I take offense or anything," I began, "but why are you being so nice to me, Paul?" He'd only just met me and he seemed like a nice guy, but I don't know… it just seemed strange. The radio switched from a current song by some new female artist to an R&B track; it didn't take long for the singer's understated, yet powerful voice to reach my ears.

He nodded his head slowly for a moment before opening his mouth. He looked towards me and smiled, "I like you, Rachel."

There was nothing wrong with a sentiment of friendship but I couldn't help but feel Paul's words held a little more weight than that. There was more to it. I looked down at my fingers – flexing and bending, trying to get the blood flowing.

"Paul," I began honestly, "I think I'm a little old for you. And you're my little brother's friend."

"Well I'm not so sure why my being Jake's friend is a _bad_ thing – apart from your ability to dig up more dirt on me. Which is minimal, I'm a fairly uninteresting person. And age is all relative. How old are you?"

"I'll be twenty one next month. You?"

"Guess," he told me.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

He let out a single quiet laugh, "You think you're too old for me but you have no idea how old _I_ am? How does that math work out?" He looked towards me with all his teeth shining through a grin.

"Shut up," I replied shoving his shoulder. And for the first time I noticed that Paul – though not quite as crazy as his surfing friends – was sitting next to me in a t-shirt and shorts. "Aren't you cold?" I sidetracked.

He looked down at the pavement with a knowing smile, "Naw. I don't really get cold anymore."

"Why is that?" I asked. Getting cold was kind of important to homeostasis – the maintaining of an ideal body environment. When I voiced this aloud, Paul tried and failed to rein in his laughter. I pouted a bit and slid back so my butt was in my trunk and my legs hung over the edge.

"I have no idea what you just said to me," Paul hopped off his seat and turned so he could see me. "That face is priceless, but what does this have to do with my age? Are you temperature biased too?"

"No," I replied mockingly, "I don't know how old you are, Paul. But I know you're a lot younger than Sam – who is my age – and you're not a hell of a lot older than Jake – who is sixteen. I can't really venture much of a guess beyond that because you all look like you're twenty five."

"All of us?" Paul mused quietly as he leaned forward against the bumper.

"Well," I qualified, "Your ragtag group here. Sam – who is obviously the pack leader—"

"What?" Paul asked, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. I'd said something that set him off… but I filed that away for later inspection. "He's the Riff to your Jets. He's the head honcho, he's at the front of the posse during your throw down/dance off with the Sharks."

"Okay," he nodded once solemnly. "I'm going to pretend that my mother was not obsessed with musicals up through my middle school years and that I did _not_ understand that _West Side Story _reference. Continue."

It was my turn to laugh. I covered my mouth with the too-long sleeves of his sweatshirt to muffle the sound. I got too much enjoyment out of that visual. Poor preteen boys being forced to watch _West Side Story_.

"The mutants," I began again. "Sam, _you_, that kid Jared, my _brother_ and Quil and Embry. You all look like you're twenty five – even though I know for a fact that Jake, Embry and Quil are all sixteen. Sam makes a little more sense, I know he's my age. But you, _you_, I don't remember from high school. So you have to be closer to Jake's age."

I was quiet for a moment thinking over my next words. I didn't know how to present them without sounding crazy. But I figured I deserved one of those. After all, Paul got his during introductions. "It's weird," I began again quietly, "because it's just you guys. Your group. No other Quileute boys look that way. And I know something is up, because Jake is… different. I'm just really hoping it's not anything stupid." I said this last part with deliberate significance, because I like all these boys. I didn't want them getting themselves into trouble. Or killed.

"Yeah," Paul nodded. He hopped lithely into my trunk, sitting on the edge with his feet inside and he just looked at me. For a long time. He wasn't staring, he wasn't even looking. He was seeing. I felt embarrassed, like I was wearing something revealing because the way he looked at me just sort of made me feel like he was seeing a lot more than what was on the surface.

"Well," he continued, glancing at his feet, "It's not stupid. We can't help it."

"You mean to tell me _this_," I waved my hand up and down his torso, "is not your own doing?"

"Nope," he confirmed, "au naturel, baby." I listened intently and tried not to say anything that would through Paul off – like my first comment about Sam. The thing was I knew something was up. Not only with my brother but with this select group of Quileute boys.

I had no idea and Jake wouldn't say a word. He just got all panicky when I confronted him about it. He's so used to telling me everything; I won't lie when I say I tried to use that to my advantage. But he would just make up some asinine excuse to leave the room. Or the house.

It looked a lot like Paul was at least marginally more willing to talk then my brother, so I wasn't about to push him.

I was waiting for him to continue, because I really didn't know what to say. I figured if he set his own pace it would be better. Then he looked up at me, a small glint in his eye. "Would you like to dance?"


	2. Chapter 2

It took my brain a moment to process what he'd asked me. I was in such a completely different frame of mind, we'd been talking of something so unrelated it jarred me for a moment. Then I leaned forward a bit and out of my trunk. I heard the radio over the crackling of the campfire, where most of the party now seemed to have reconvened. "

He stepped out of my trunk and extended his hand. "Please? If you say no, I'll be really embarrassed. You'll be warmer next to the human campfire and you'll boost my self-esteem if you say yes."

I laughed. Again, with the lack of brain filter. I found it endearing. "But what about giving someone the wrong idea?" because I liked Paul, but I'd known him an hour. I didn't want to lead him on.

"What idea is there to give?" he shrugged.

"Why the hell not," I sighed, extending my hand into his own. He helped me out of my trunk and shut it as well. The way First Beach works is that there is no parking lot. It's on this road and you park in the breakdown lane. It's not a big deal because the road is a bit of dead end. It goes into some sleepy neighborhood but no one travels it unless they're going to the beach typically. There's this short, gradual slope down about a dozen or so feet before the flat pebbly beach breaks out. So, once my trunk was sealed up I didn't really know what Paul's plan was.

I glanced down at the beach and could hear the laughter under the pervasive blues piece. I looked back and saw Paul, standing in the middle of the dark empty road. "Don't back out now," he called to me as I stood between the trunk of my car and the hood of Embry's Chevy.

"The road?" I asked quizzically.

"You got any better ideas?" he asked with a grin.

I peeked down each end of the road and seeing no lights I took a step feeling the pavement beneath my sneaker-clad feet.

"I'm not going to let you get hit by a semi or anything," he said once and took a step towards me.

I rolled my eyes. Rachel Black was no wimp. I took a decided step forward, "No kidnapping me and chopping me into bits either." Paul looked momentarily horrified, but seemed to realize I was kidding. "I'm kidding," I said plainly, just to reaffirm that fact. I closed the last bit of distance between us, placing my hand in his and the other on his shoulder. He looked down finding a place for his other hand on my waist.

He was a lot taller than me – I only reached his shoulder – so we mostly stayed in the same spot, simply stepping and turning. Paul was right. I was a heck of a lot warmer; the heat of his hand spread. It warmed my lower back and continued to travel. I moved a little closer and he looked down at me with a quizzical brow. "Sorry," I apologized, "I'm freezing." He nodded with understanding and took another step closer. At this point we were almost touching. We couldn't get any closer together.

I noticed so much more with this proximity. First: Paul smelled like campfire and the woods and I found it rather pleasant. And number two: I realized that Paul was a good-looking guy.

His face usually fell into this expression of anger or bitterness, but he had one of those smiles that changed his whole face. He didn't fake a smile; all the ones I'd seen were genuine and the flash in his eyes affected every contour on his face.

He had these light green eyes, I noticed. They were lighter than what you'd usually expect. They were highly vibrant and rimmed on the outside with gold. They practically glowed. He had the same angular face as many of the rest of us on the res, but an atypical nose. It was more narrow – with one of those small bumps. His whole face, actually, was the same way. He was just more streamlined, leaner.

I was really quite absorbed in his warmth and our rhythmic movement. I peeked up, forgetting momentarily that his face would be so much closer to mine. "I remember," his voice was quiet, "when we were in grade school and you beat up a kid in your class for making fun of Jake and Quil. I was on that very same playground. You're one tough broad – I'm pretty sure you could take me if I tried to kidnap you."

I smiled sadly. I remembered the day quite vividly. Not because I'd beat the crap out of Peter Dillan. Not because I had my first detention as a result. Not because Billy pretended to be mad and later showed me how to perfect my upper cut. Later that day, Jake had stormed home in all his third grade fury, tossed his Ninja Turtles backpack on the kitchen floor and told me he hated me. That's why I remembered it.

I later learned that third grade was the threshold where having your sister fight your battles was no longer cool. That day – for me – is embedded in my mind in a sort of bittersweet way. That day, Jacob began to grow up, to become 'big kid' but with that came less reliance on his big sister. He started doing things for himself. He played more with his own friends, he didn't always want to walk home with me and for a long time he wouldn't tell me when someone was bothering him. I was only a sixth grader and for a while I was really upset because Jake, Becca and I had always been friends. We were a rare sibling match up. I had lost a friend.

By the time Jake got to Junior High we'd reached a truce. He would tell me stuff, I just couldn't do anything about it. At least like last time.

So the memory of that day was scratched into my brain because I'd replayed the events over and over so much over the years. It was such a turning point. I remember the sand of the playground, the newly repainted swing set and jungle gym. I remember the kids at the tire swing and those watching me from the gate. For an instant my mental scan of the area stopped. It paused over the little boy hanging upside down from the monkey bars – directly behind Jake and Quil's stunned faces. My eyes slipped over the mental image of the skinny boy, with his narrow nose and bright eyes.

I opened my eyes for a moment, understanding dawning on me. Without moving from our rhythmic turning, I tipped my head sideways. After a moment, Paul imitated me. "What are we doing?"

I smiled finally standing upright. "You were the little boy hanging upside down on the monkey bars…" random memories of my childhood came flooding back. I smiled thinking back to when Jake, I – and Paul apparently – were all kids. "You… you were the kid with a temper. You knocked over my mailbox when Jake and you were thirteen…" I remembered a lot now.

Paul had been a peripheral friend of Jake's. Always mentioned in passing as part of a larger group. I heard fleeting stories about him as well, when Jake would talk about his day. For some reason the thought of an in-house suspension was hanging in my mind.

Paul nodded, "That would be me."

"You still got a such a hot head?" I asked curious. Small things began to fall into place as part of my childhood and adolescence drifted through the fog.

"It was getting better," he informed me, "Until recently…"

"Recently?" I asked, "Does this have anything to do with what we were talking about earlier? Or your freakish – yet completely welcome – temperature issues?"

"Probably," he said, brow furrowing in thought.

"So," I continued slowly, trying not to lay this on the wrong way. I'm sorry but I was getting impatient. "Are you going to tell me… Are you going to tell me what is doing this to all of you? To my brother, to you?" It wasn't snappy or demanding; I was concerned and that could be heard in my voice.

A moment later and Paul had stopped us. We were simply standing in the road now. He dropped his hand from my waist. I cringed slightly as the cold air blew through the sweatshirt and the chill redoubled in that spot.

He continued to hold onto my other hand and he lead me to the opposite side of the road. Opposite the beach was this cliff face. There was about five feet of space after the road ended, filled with tumbled boulders before the rock shot dozens of feet upward and towards the sky.

Paul hopped onto a boulder and I scampered rather ungracefully up the other side. I tugged the enormous sweatshirt over my upturned knees and scooted unabashedly closer to Paul. He didn't make any indication that he noticed – sans the brief smirk.

"So there's this thing," Paul began as he looked down at the stone surface beneath us. "And it affects some boys of the Quileute people. When we reach a certain point in our lives we go through this change. In our case, it's triggered by outside forces but anyways—we… change? The physical is part of it… a pretty big part of it. But there's more. Just… a lot more."

"It's called puberty, Paul," I said quietly.

"What?" he replied, momentarily confused. "Wait… no!" he laughed looking at me in disbelief, "not _puberty_. I know what that is. _That_ happened a while ago, thank you very much." He shook his head and regained his serious tone a grin lingering on his face. "This is different. It only happens to _some_ of us. Mostly boys. _Quileute _boys."

I nodded in understanding. I think he was expecting me to start to put things together but I was getting nothing. Realizing this, he sighed. He looked around running his hands over his face, "Do you remember the legends? The myths your dad tells all the time?" That was random.

"Well, there are kind of a lot," I admitted, hoping he was going somewhere with this. My dad was – for all intents and purposes – the leader of the remains of our tribe. He knew all the legends backwards and forwards, like he'd really lived it. He used to tell them to us at night before bed. But there were _a lot_. Like _a lot_ a lot. The trickster Raven, Q'Wati from where our tribe was supposed to begin – how he'd made us from wolves, the spirit warriors…

When I voiced this aloud Paul stopped me at that last one. "Spirit Warriors," he repeated, "go from there."

"Okay," I said dubiously, following his instructions anyways. I shook the cobwebs from my memories of Quileute folklore. "Um… Okay. The first Spirit Warriors… they could leave their bodies to defend their people. Then generations later… ah, what's his name… Taha Aki, there we go, assumed a wolf's body because someone stole his when he left it."

Paul hopped off the rock and I stopped for a moment, "Keep going," he assured me.

"All right," things were getting weird but I just continued. There had to be some kind of logic behind this, right? Paul backed slowly down the road and into the shadows of the pines that bordered first beach. I crossed my legs beneath myself and wracked my brain. "Utlapa. That's right! Utlapa, he was a traitor. He stole Taha Aki's body and pretended to be him."

I continued, now feeling down right foolish sitting here talking to myself, "Taha Aki moved into a wolf's body. But after a while he ended up killing the wolf's soul and it was just him."

At this point I heard a ruffle from the woods. I assumed Paul was returning from whatever he'd just been doing. I assumed there was some kind of point to this weird experiment. "But after a while he became the wolf. He was able to shift into a human form. And go back and forth, between the two."

At this moment in time, the rustling I heard turned to deliberate padded steps. Heavy steps. With more than two feet. Something enormous was coming towards me. My mouth snapped shut. I was no longer worried about legends. I was frozen to that rock I sat on and I couldn't make a noise.

Then like some kind of bad horror movie, the clouds shifted away from the moon, revealing an enormous wolf standing in the middle of the road. The gray fur shifted in the wind and it took up a whole traffic lane – it was that big. My mouth fell open but no sound came out. This wolf came closer towards me, taking slow, careful steps. When my mouth decided not to work – when no scream came out – my body did. I snapped up from the rock and began to back away – my eyes open wide and body incapable of coaxing a scream from my lungs.

This wolf was huge. Like the size of horse except meatier. I was absolutely assured I was going to die. I had no idea where Paul had gone and to be honest I didn't wan to think about it. Because I could've guessed.

The wolf followed after me – step for step – never closing the distance. It whined once and lowered its head. There were no bared teeth and growls but I was still certain I was on the schedule for the next meal.

I felt hot tears beginning to well up in my eyes when I bumped into something hard. I was startled and jumped into the air. I turned, recognizing Sam's old red van. I turned back around – not wanting to be caught off guard by the carnivore stalking towards me. I reached up behind me and tried for the handle.

It was unlocked.

In a blur so fast I would've suspected it from someone far more agile, I tore the door open, hopped in, slammed it shut and shoved down the locks on both the passenger and driver side. I scrambled into the back making sure the back doors were locked as well. I realize an animal that size having the dexterity to open those doors was slim, but I felt marginally better.

I could see the wolf padding towards the truck and I couldn't push myself any further to the passenger side. The tears were now streaming down my face and I still couldn't make any noise. Of all the times for my voice to give out on me. Help was only a few dozen feet away down that hill. But then again, I didn't want them getting hurt… I guess it's a good thing my body decided this on its own.

The wolf stopped only a few feet from the driver's side window. It cocked its head to the side and whined. Pushing its wet nose to the window I felt the van rock gently. I squinted my eyes closed – now regretting climbing in this steel metal death trap and fully prepared to be pushed and roll down the beach in this tin can.

My heart slowed down a tiny bit as I detected no noise and no additional attempts to tip the van. I peeked up slightly and my heart plummeted. The wolf was still there, but he sat about five feet away from the door. It just sat there, whining. I heard it's enormous claw as it pawed the ground – like a shovel on pavement. I looked over its gigantic gray form and for a moment – a slightly unhinged moment – I just felt… okay? For some bizarre reason I felt like this mutant carnivore wasn't going to hurt me. Don't ask me why because I don't know.

I sat up from my crouched position in the passenger seat and moved to the driver's side. I'd never seen a wolf up close – despite living so near the woods my whole life – but this one was remarkably animated. The face… it was almost as if it were thinking, processing; like there was an evolved mind behind the bright familiar eyes.

Just then it stood back up – slowly – now seeming to understand how frightened I was. It was strange that it was trying _not _to frighten me. I mean, animals don't think like that. And I was supposed to be the next meal, so what did it care?

It moved steadily in front of Embry's truck – which was in front of Sam's in the line against the road. It must've laid down, because for a moment I could see nothing.

And then some – significantly smaller - shadowed form emerged. I caught a glint of eyes and recognized Paul's face and naked torso.

And that's about where things went black.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't know if there's any possible way to reveal the Quileute secret without having the person flip the hell out. Whether it's outsiders witnessing it or even the new wolves themselves – everyone panics.

Apparently – at least according to my brother and Paul – the transformation is brought on by some kind of powerful emotion. Usually anger or sadness. Apparently we don't really coax up the same degree of happiness as we do negative emotions.

So my brother didn't shift for a very long time because he was always with Bella. And despite her being completely emo _all the time,_ her very presence just made my baby brother happy. Yeah, I know; I don't want to talk about it.

Anyways, so Paul was number two to shift after Sam. He has a raging temper, so I suppose it wasn't much of a surprise. He was mad at his mother one day and stormed out of the house, next thing he knew he'd torn his porch off the front of the house and was ten times his original size. Nearly gave the poor woman a stroke.

And after that first unintentional shift, it can take a very long time before they guy in question is able to shift back. Because if a loss of control triggers the shift from man to wolf, you need total control for the shift back from wolf to man. So regaining control and the pressure knowing that you need control is overwhelming. It took Sam about a long time to shift back because he was the first one. He had no idea what was happening to him.

After several weeks when my dad and Old Quil recognized that Sam was nervous wreck and disappearing every time he got upset, they figured it out. They were kind of expecting it. My dad and Old Quil knew the Cullens. Well, they at least knew _of_ them. There were seven of them, living not five miles away. It would only be matter of time before Quileute shape shifters started popping out of the ground like daisies.

Seth, I guess, has the best record. The others attribute it to him being so young. At first he panicked but when the others shifted and explained what was happening through their mental telepathy, he thought it was cool and calmed down. It took him fifteen hours.

It took my brother three days; Paul, five; Jared, four; Quil, three, Embry, two; Collin, eight and Brady, nine. It took Brady and Collin the longest because they were only thirteen. In the heat of puberty they're already unstable and the added stress of suddenly shifting threw their body chemistry into a tailspin. Those two might look like they're much older physically, but they're internally always thirteen. Or at least until they stop shifting. Imagine being stuck looking eighteen, being thirteen and frozen in mental throes of puberty. Yeah, I remind the others of this when they start bitching. Those poor boys have it rough.

And it hurts. Shifting for all its awesome visual effects is painful. All the molecules in your body shift and turn and multiply in one split second. There's a reason the new kids are constantly growling during the process. And apparently, it doesn't get better with time. Every time a wolf shifts one way or the other it's excruciating. That's why they learn to do it so quick. The less time in a shift the less pain there is. So most of them can complete a human to wolf shift in mid leap.

Just as emotion is part of it when they first shift, it's part of it even afterwards. It's a whole process. The change has its affects on chemical receptors in the brain as well. They all deal with heightened states of emotion. High highs, and low lows. It reminds a lot to me like PMS except non-stop. And they all have to learn to control it. For a long time, new wolves aren't allowed near anyone else except pack mates.

Emily is a living testament to that logic. In the midst of an argument Sam lost control and shifted. He wasn't expecting it. He'd never planned on hitting her, never planned on hurting her – but all of a sudden he was exponentially bigger than he had been moments before. And as he grew, Emily was at the wrong end of a paw instead of still being four feet away.

Paul didn't like telling me that story. Because he knows the reality of it. How it can happen to them. It scared me for a while, and I would intentionally try to avoid arguments with him for that reason alone. But that's not healthy.

As a result, Sam probably has the best control of the whole pack. His shifting now works in his brain like the words that come out of his mouth; it's all intentional and well-thought out. Paul has remarkably good control as well. His instincts seem to sense when he's around me. He's absolutely scared shitless of an unintended shift when I'm around. It's never happened.

So he does have some element of control over his temper. He's a naturally passionate person. He's also a natural cynic; so anger is a common powerful emotion I guess you could say. But he has that control over it. He can – and will – still express _all_ of his anger_ all_ of the time, but he has enough of a grip on it so that it doesn't take over his better judgment. Or at least his better judgment when it comes to shifting – he still says and does a lot of other really stupid things.

And like I said, no one reacts well to this news that the Quileute boys burst into giant dog shapes. Kim passed out and thought she dreamt it all, Emily sobbed hysterically for days and lost twenty pounds. God knows how Claire will take it when she's old enough. Me? I just blacked out on massive chunks of time.

The next thing I remember is hearing a dull pounding against metal. I could hear but I couldn't see yet.

"What the hell are you doing?" A deep voice asked, "Any particular reason you're trying to tear the door off my van?"

"She's fucking catatonic in there!" A second voice responded, "I need to make sure she's okay! I tried to lay it on as gently as possible; she remembered the legends, I came out as small and quiet as I could. She flipped the hell out!"

"Wait," I heard a familiar voice and the crunch of gravel, "You told her? Why were you… Holy shit! My sister? On my sister? What the fuck is wrong with you? Oh so help me God—"

"Guys!" the first voice rang above the others. "You know it doesn't work like that Jake; now ease up. Paul, take a freakin' breath. She's in shock and your wailing on the door probably isn't going to help."

With that intonation of names I began to come back to myself. I'm pretty sure my eyes were open, I just wasn't seeing anything. Then I could see the car in front of me, the one I'd been ostensibly staring at this whole time. I was sitting in the driver's seat. Tears were streaming silently down my face. I felt my hands in a death grip as they wrapped around me and clutched at my arms. I shuddered and could feel a cold sweat that had stuck to my face. I swallowed against the rolling nausea in my stomach.

I turned to look out the window and was met with three faces. All holding the same wide-eyed expression. Like they were expecting me snap at any moment. And I couldn't remember why I was like this. I was absolutely panic-stricken but I couldn't remember why. How had I gotten here?

"Rach," Jacob began, "open the door. Everything's all right."

I did as I was told. I lifted the lock and heaved the steel door open. I small sob hiccupped from my throat as I sat there. I must've looked a wreck. "Oh God," Jake stepped forward. "Come here."

I all but jumped on him. I was so absolutely stricken with horror and the incessant flipping of my stomach. I just latched around his neck and held on for dear life. I felt his arms around me. "It's fine, Rach. You're all right," I felt him rub a rhythm over my back. "Way to go, you retard!" I gathered he wasn't talking to me at this point.

"Look," I heard Paul reply, "in the broad scheme of things. This hasn't been so bad so far, okay? There have been – and probably will be – worse. So shut your trap."

"Both of you," Sam, the eternal voice of reason, interceded, "Stop it. Paul – go get Emily. Jake – get her back to Em's place. Calm her down. It's going to be a long night."

I watched Paul head down the beach and Sam hopped in his recently vacated truck and started the engine. Jake set me on my own two feet and we started towards my car.

I wracked my brain, trying to remember what had me so keyed up, why I was so jumpy. I thought back. I remembered dancing, I remembered warm, I remembered sitting on rock, I remembered retelling Quileute legends. I remembered feeling like an idiot because I was talking alone. Wait… Why was I talking alone?

"Where are your keys?" I was interrupted by Jake's question.

"Um…" I muttered, just now realizing my voice felt like steel wool in my throat. I felt around my pockets and finally produced my keyring. "Here." Jake unlocked the door and I slid inside automatically. I heard him in the driver's side moments later. I could see now, I just didn't really register a lot around me. "You okay, Rach?" I looked over and nodded. "That is _such_ a lie," he half laughed. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

I heard the car come to life and felt it turn and head down the road. I began thinking again. What was it I wasn't remembering? Where had I left off… I was alone. That's right. Why was I recounting legends alone? I was with someone. I was with… the dancing, the warmth… I looked down at my hands, completely covered by the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt I was wearing. Paul. This was Paul's sweatshirt. I had been with Paul and… he asked if I remembered the legends. And he was there when I began talking but… he left. He… yeah. He left and then… and then what? What legend had I been telling? I'd talked about Spirit Warriors. That's right, because I remember thinking it was my favorite legend. I distinctly remember the way Billy told it. Spirit Warriors and I talked about Taha Aki and then Utlapa. And Taha Aki and the wolves.

The wolves. Paul's insistence on hearing _this_ partcular story. His comment, 'It only happens to some of us.' The wolf stalking towards me. The eyes, bright eyes, the common traits he shared with the other boys – my brother included, the sudden disappearance of the very same wolf, Jake's comment: 'You told her?', the way they were always together _like a pack_, my own comment, 'The mutants…'

My eyes flashed wide. It all made sense. It all clicked for me in that one instant. That was not a regular wolf that stalked towards me, that sat outside the car window whining and pawing the ground. Jake and Sam hadn't flipped out about the massive beast because they already knew. That was the secret that Jake had been keeping from me. Paul made me recall the legends so it made more sense. I was just too paralyzed in fear to remember the words that had just been coming from my own mouth.

But it wasn't just Paul. It was all of them. Sam and Quil and Embry and Jake. And Jake. I felt my white knuckle grip on the console and the door handle and the tumbling in my stomach redoubled. I looked over at Jake as he drove back into the village towards Emily's house. "Rach, take it easy. You're going to rip the door handle off."

"Jake, pull over," I said shortly. He looked at me for a moment, a bit dubious – like I might make a break for it. "I'm going to be sick," I clarified.

The car slowed and I hopped out into the cloud of dust and felt the contents of my stomach – the entirety of my campfire dinner – empty into the wild shrubbery on the side of the road. It was quick – I hadn't eaten much that day – and I sat back down on the pavement leaning against the side of the car. Jacob was around the side of the car and he plopped down beside me.

"Sorry," I offered with a hoarse whisper. "I… uh…" how does one verbalize this? Jake was right. I hadn't remembered. That is, up until about four minutes ago. "I remember."

"You remember?" Jake said evenly. "What do you remember?" I could tell he was feeling me out. Seeing if I just remembered recent events or if I was making connections yet.

I wiped at the tears that had begun coursing down my cheeks once again. "I know," I clarified.


	4. Chapter 4

I knew. Jake knew. Paul certainly knew. Others knew. And now Jake knew I knew. But no one else knew that I knew. Or necessarily what I knew. At least I don't think they knew that I knew. But I could be wrong. I don't know.

I managed to get to Emily's without any more unexpected heaving. I think the shock of recent events might've just gotten to me. My stomach began to settle as I headed up Emily's front steps in front of Jake. Really, it was the least I could ask. Dealing with this while my stomach was not trying to turn itself inside out was not a big request.

Emily gave me a gentle hug and a cup of tea as I came in the house. It was just us. Jake had gone off somewhere out back. I'd heard the screen door.

"So," Emily began, "welcome to the club."

"Thanks," I released a tired chuckle. "Can I ask you a question?" I liked Emily. I had only just met her since I returned home but I'd gotten to know her over the past two weeks and I have to say I liked her.

"That's what I'm here for," she shrugged.

"Why," I asked, "Why am I allowed to know all of a sudden? How come it's been this big secret for so long and now it all changes?"

Emily nodded. "There are only a select few reasons that any of them can tell an individual who doesn't shift. The fewer people know, the better."

"And obviously you know," I continued.

"Yep," she took a sip from her mug, "for the same reason that you know."

"And what would that be?" Why did I suddenly get the secret? And from Paul of all people, who I'd known a grand total of three hours? What planet was I on? Why couldn't my brother tell me this? Lord knows I've been bugging him about it since I got back, and now it was just all here?

"I can't tell you," she shook her head. "But you'll know soon enough. That's why were here."

* * *

This felt remarkably like an intervention. Or maybe an AA meeting. I'd never been to either, but I gathered that this was probably what it looked like. We were all sitting in a circle. Jake on my left as I slumped unceremoniously into his side – I had pretty much said 'screw this big sister bullshit' for the time being. I mean he was physically twenty five? Who cared. Emily was in the arm chair next to me and Sam and Paul occupied the sofa across from us.

"So what do you know?" Sam asked me, leaning forward.

"I know the legends are true," I replied. "And it affects you, and my brother and Paul and Quil and Seth and Leah and Embry and Collin and Brady and Jared and everyone else that looks like you. I know it only happens to some of you."

Sam nodded seeming to appreciate that I'd come this far with Paul's botched revelation attempt.

"But why?" I asked. "Why does it only happen to some of you? And – no offense – why the hell did Paul have to tell me?"

They all just sort of looked at each other. Like they were performing some kind of mental consult with each other. "You only get one of those questions today, Rach," Jake informed me.

"Why?" I looked up.

"Because there's only so much of your puke I can take in a day."

I didn't know how to decide. Why Paul of all people revealed the Great Quileute Secret versus why this canine issue only surfaced in some the boys. I decided that the whole thing with Paul was really eating at my mind and knowing the exact science behind each boy's transformation was just kind of a fun fact.

"Okay," I said coming to a decision. "I want to know why Paul was the one to tell me. But if that's the only question allowed, I want something else."

Sam, Paul and Jake just looked at me dubiously. It wasn't that extreme. I rolled my eyes, "I want to see what you all look like."

"Deal," Sam nodded. "But that first question… Well, why don't the three of us step outside and… yeah."

So it was just Paul and I left in Emily's living room. I scrunched up, my back to the arm of the couch and pulled a nearby quilt around me. Paul crossed the room joining me on the couch.

"You all right?" He asked with genuine concern. His hand ghosted over my forehead. "I heard you were sick." I don't know what it was with Paul, but the more time I spent with him the softer he got. It was only when it was the two of us, but he'd gone from being kind of uptight, awkward and angry to just so chilled out. The second anyone else was in the room he snapped back to the original. It was… odd?

I nodded with a grimace. My throat was still raw from my car ride over here, plus I didn't like advertising my heaving all over the side of the road. "Yeah," I nodded. "Shock."

"Sorry," he nodded and just watched me for a while, thinking. "I don't know how to start this," he told me honestly.

I cleared my throat, peeking my head out of the quilt like a turtle. "Emily said that there are only a select few reasons why this secret you guys have, your ability to…"

"Shapeshift," Paul supplied.

"Yeah," I responded. That was a good word for it. "There are only a few reasons why a shapeshifter can reveal the secret to someone who isn't."

"That's true," he agreed. "Your dad knows because he's a tribal elder. Sort of the same deal with Old Quil and Sue Clearwater. Part of it's inevitable – I'm honestly surprised Jake kept it from you for as long as he did. I lost that bet… Anyways, some people just need to know. We need some people on the outside."

"Okay," I nodded, "So necessity. That's one."

"And some people just know by accident. For instance, my mom knows because she saw my first shift. If I didn't tell her, she would've been a tad concerned afterwards."

"You don't say," I muttered.

"Your dad knows, also, because Jake shifted in your kitchen. The scratches on the floor are not from their rearranging the furniture."

I smirked a little and looked up at his face. "That makes a lot more sense," I admitted. "So some people know out of necessity. Some people know by accident and - like the Tribal Council - some just know by default?" He nodded, affirming my summary. "But where does that leave Emily. She knows, obviously. And she said I'd know for the same reason she does. As far as I can see neither of us fall into any of your categories."

I wasn't really one of those people that needed to know. Jake and Billy – apparently – had kept this from me for a while. And I hadn't been present for any freak wolfy accidents. So why me, why now?

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I know – despite my panicked state – but I can't wrap my head around the logic of the reveal within the confines of tribal or pack law.

"Okay," Paul said, his voice becoming low and serious. He faced me and this look of concentration overcame his face.

"Wait," I held a hand up. He looked up at me, slightly shocked. "Would you chill? You look like you're going to freak out. I've got enough of that in my system right now. So just… be calm."

He nodded a few times silently. He tried to calm down. It didn't work. Eventually I reached my arms out of my blanket cocoon. I placed my hands on his shoulders. "Shoulders down," I pressed firmly. "Stop that!" I insisted as his eyebrows furrowed together. I reached up to his face, covering it with my hands, "Calm. Down." I used my thumbs and pushed the corners of his mouth up into a smile, mostly just to release the intense amount of tension he seemed to carry in his face.

I finally reached down and grasped his enormous hands in my own. "Stop twitching. It's okay. Things could be worse. You could be alone on the side of a road facing down a genetically altered predator exponentially larger than you."

"That I could," he agreed.

"All right," he launched from there, "so there is this thing that the wolves occasionally do. It seems pretty random but we're not really sure. Anyways, it's this instinct that's triggered inside us. It helps us find the one."

"The one?" I asked confused. "What do you mean?"

"The one," Paul repeated. "Like The One. Soul mates?"

"Oh!" I replied, "Okay, I get it. Keep going."

"Well, it's called imprinting. Jared imprinted on Kim; Quil on Claire—"

"Whoa, wait—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Paul nodded, "the man imprinted on a toddler. I know. He'll just be a big brother for the next decade. The imprinter fills whatever relationship need that is required of the imprintee. So, if the imprint needs a best friend that's what we are. If you need a brother, a body guard, a boyfriend a life mate - any of that. We naturally fill that role."

I remembered seeing Jared with Kim. They didn't have one of those obnoxious relationships – which was nice – they both just seem contented knowing they were meant for each other. And Quil toted that little girl around like nobody's business. I was on the verge of asking Jacob if it was his and I just seriously missed something in my semester at class. Then I thought about Emily, who's very house I was in.

"Emily and Sam?" I quirked a brow. He just nodded solemnly, his hands closing in my own. "So this just kind of puts a big neon sign on your soul mate then?"

"It's more than that," he continued. "The imprinter – the wolf – everything in his head changes. It's like all of a sudden it's only that girl that matters," he was looking right at me, really trying to drive this message home. "Any other emotional ties you held with anyone – anyone – they fade. You'd do anything for the person. Soul mates is kind of taken out of context and most people think of it romantically, but it's just some one who is your other half. Some one who's always there when you need them. It can be romantic - but that's not necessarily so."

There was some other connection here I was not getting. I stared down at our intertwined hands, trying to think. The imprinting, the wolves, Sam, Emily, Quil, Claire… I remembered this all went back to my original question. Why Paul was the one to reveal this all to me. Paul said people knew out of necessity, accident and now this was the third reason. Emily had told me that I know about the wolves for the same reason she knew. Emily was imprinted.

Oh my god. I thought back through recent history. Paul's initial introduction, the way he constantly looked at me, the sweatshirt, the dance, the big reveal, his glaringly obvious statement: 'I like you, Rachel.' His instinctual relaxation around me? It all made sense. It all made sense…

I looked up, my eyes wide. "Paul," I attempted evenly, "how do you know what all this imprinting business feels like?"

"Rachel, hon?" he reached up cupping my face. "I have imprinted. I've lived it."

My hands clapped over my face. "Holy shit…" I was right.

"You imprinted on me," It wasn't a question.

* * *

Needless to say, I ended up blacking out on some more spaces of time after that. I suddenly remember hardwood. I was very close to these wide slats of hardwood, worn smooth from use.

The floor would come closer and then move further away. Back and forth in a rhythmic pattern the floor moved towards and away from me. I was hyperventilating. And my head was between my knees.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth," I heard come to me through the fog. I soon recognized it as Paul's and could feel him rubbing a steady rhythm between my shoulder blades. "Rachel I really need you to breathe; I am not good with body fluids."

A laugh hicupped through my chest and the interruption of the deep inhales helped me regain control of my own lungs. I finally had a normal pattern down and was able to close my mouth. My lips felt dry and cracked and I was forcefully reminded of how horrible I must look right now. I chose to keep my head between my knees. At this rate, I'd end up back here soon enough so I might as well make myself comfortable.

"I'm all right," I assured Paul. I could see his face - upside down - through my periphery. He looked like he was worse off than me. He sat on the couch next to me and I reached for the hand that wasn't at my back. "Paul, I need you to calm down for me. You're freaking out is freaking me out. You're doing fine. Just... Please? Help me out?"

I didn't know it at the time but that was Paul and I's first imprint/imprintee interaction. At that moment I'd really needed a rock. If I saw other people panicking it would just get me more riled up. He must've felt that subliminal biological request in my touch because he did really well after that. I'd needed stability in that moment and that's what he was for me.

An hour later I'd sat up straight and drank down another cup of tea. Jake, Sam and Emily had returned and we'd resumed much the same positions as before. Except now I was slumped into Paul's side - not my brother's.

Part of me said I might as well get used to this guy because there wasn't a hell of a lot to get rid of him. I'd kind of been a bit uneasy after calming down because imprinting sounded a lot like some kind of genetically arranged marriage. But Paul assured me - once again - that he would become whatever I needed. I'd asked what that meant for him. Would his feelings about me change as mine did about him.

"Well," he shrugged, "no matter what, I'm going to think you're absolutely fucking perfect. But I could just feel like your buddy or it could turn to something else..." he trailed off. "but you control all that."

Paul and I would argue about the dynamics of our mutual choices in this fiasco at a later date. Right now I was just gathering information.

It wasn't simply resigning myself to living forever with Paul at my side in some way because it wasn't a burden like that. You can only argue choices and fairness in the beginning stages of imprinting for so long because he naturally snapped into a comforting and protective force around me. And who was I to deny that? It's what I wanted. What I needed. He just made me feel better.

I tried not to think about the fact that I'd only met him about four hours ago because it spiked my panic and I had bigger fish to fry at the moment. When you get imprinted you have to sort your panic and argument priorities because there's a lot of both and if you take them on all at once you'll go crazy.

So I slumped onto the side of my current security blanket. He was rather content with his arm over the back of the couch and my head on his shoulder.

I was getting the run down of all things werewolf. This is what I gathered:

#1. They're all sweaty all the time  
#2. It's a pack of boys that run around half naked - or fully naked depending on the situation - in the woods and are subject to constant mood swings.  
#3. Some are higher on the food chain then others. It goes Sam, Jake, Jared, Paul, Embry.  
#4. My little brother is apparently some genetic heir to Alpha-hood but is being too much a pansy to do anything about it - even when Sam offers it to him.  
#5. They protect the reservation from beings unknown to me - apparently that's part of the question I don't get answered today; why wolves happen in the first place, is tied what they're protecting us from.  
#6. They heal like superheroes.  
#7. They read each others minds.

After that I stopped them because my brain was saturated. "Well, that's about it for now anyways," Jake shrugged.

"Are you three going to hold up your end of the deal now?" I asked. "Do I get to see you in all your fluffy glory or what?"

Emily and I sat on the steps in the dark as the three boys - Sam, Paul and Jake made for the woods of the backyard. I yawned compulsively and shivered into the quilt I still had clutched around me. "Tired?" Emily asked.

"Ugh," I sighed, "just drained. It has been one hell of an evening. And it's only," I wrested my arm from the folds of the blanket to consult my wrist, "two in the morning."

"I won't lie," Emily began, "I think you're taking this all really well."

"I don't think it's hit home yet. I'm sure I've got a few more breakdowns in my future. But you guys explained it pretty well."

"And the imprinting thing," she quirked a brow, "it doesn't bother you at all?"

"Well of course it does," I disagreed. "but I can't help feeling that it doesn't happen totally randomly. There has a deeper meaning behind it all. Who am I to argue with the alignment of the rest of the world. I'm not saying I'm complacent. But part of me feels like there's gotta be something between Paul and I if his genes would mutate and torture him in some way. Wolves are all about survival right? I don't think he'd choose someone who'd reject him."

Emily nodded as she thought over my half coherent babble. Apparently it made some sense. "Most of us just sort of hinge on the idea of a soul mate and that sends us into overdrive."

"Yeah," I squinted my eyes as I stared into the distance. "I can see where that would be the logical reaction. But a soul mate doesn't have to be a romantic thing," I replied, echoing Paul's earlier explanation, "it could just be someone who matches you. Even if it's a friend."

Emily gave me a once over with a knowing eye, "Touché."

Our eyes were drawn to the treeline as three hulking forms appeared. Wolves the size of horses with paws bigger than trashcan lids stepped silently through the yard. They eventually plopped down about ten feet from the front stoop. On the left was a totally black wolf; he sat almost perfectly still and watched me with careful eyes. The gray one in the center laid down, placing his head on his front paws. The reddish brown one on the right had his tongue hanging out to one side. It almost looked like he was smiling.

"That one is-" Emily began before I interceded.

""Wait! Could I guess?" I asked. She signaled me to go ahead and I stood from the stoop. I slowly approached the black one on the left. These boys were still five feet tall sitting down.

"You can pet them," Emily told me, "they do still like a good scratch." I reached up carefully and the black wolf ducked his head beneath my outstretched palm, encouraging me along. My natural survival instinct was still telling me that petting something with those teeth probably wasn't a good idea.

I gingerly rubbed his snout before moving to the top of his head. Up close, I could tell this wolf was totally jet black. Not black with flecks of gray or brown - totally black. A rare trait in furry animals.

I crouched down when I came upon the middle gray wolf. He looked up at me with doleful eyes and a contented whine echoed from his throat as I scratched his behind his ears. After a moment he nudged my arm with his snout then my elbow and I could feel his hot breath on my abdomen - he was sniffing me; getting my scent I presume.

When I approached the smiling red wolf he reached down and licked the entire length of my arm. "EW!" I cried in disgust. I turned back to Emily, "This one's my brother, isn't it?" I asked her. Because my initial reaction had been, 'EW! Jake!' but at the last minute I clipped off the instinctual blaming of gross things on him. It would've been weird if it wasn't Jake. But wasn't licking - like with dogs - a sign of affection? I would've felt very strange if Sam or Paul had licked me, I won't lie. Emily simply nodded.

"In that case," I took a few steps forward and wiped Jacob's dog spit on his own shoulder. He just whined at me and snapped his jaws closed.

I looked at the other two and tried to decide who was who. They didn't really resemble their human selves so I didn't have much to work with. The black wolf had still not moved - except to turn his head - and the gray one had picked his head up now. His head reached my elbow.

I kind of thought the black one was Sam. I still got this strange sense of formality from him. This stoicism I couldn't place. And if Sam was Alpha he wouldn't have laid down in front of me, or in front of other pack members - least of all his Beta - that was a submissive gesture wasn't it?

Finally I pointed to the black one, "Sam," I said looking to Emily and then, "Paul," pointing to the gray one.

"Wow," she smiled in admiration good job. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Well," I shrugged, "Sam hasn't really moved since he sat there. He does that when he's human. Almost like he's in the military. And Paul... Process of elimination? None of them really look like their human selves."

"Only some stuff," Emily got up to join me, "Sam's got the same colored hair and fur. Jake is still always smiling..." I looked over and found his goofball grin had reappeared. It made me smile too. I hadn't seen him smiling this much since I'd been home. That really cemented the nature of the wolves in my mind. This was natural. This was good. I know now that they complain a lot and the burden of being perceived as a degenerate bum by the rest of the town is hard. However, it's worth it to them. There's something about being able to shift. Something in that new form that gives them freedom, reason and happiness. Some of them may be inclined to disagree with me, but I say it's the best thing that's happened to most of them.

My brain jarred back into the present as Emily finally came to stand next to me, "...and Paul still has his blue eyes."

I stepped in front of Paul and stooped down, taking his enormous furry noggin in my hands. Emily was right. Paul had crystal clear blue eyes. "I didn't even notice that earlier," I said quietly. "It must've been because it's been so dark. They're always this color?"

Paul nodded his head and gently bumped his moist nose against my forehead. I squinted my eyes trying imagine what blue eyes would look like against his tanned skin and dark hair. I'd never seen Paul in the light. The bonfire cast strange shadows and Emily's place had only been lit by the light from the kitchen. I thought about the distinctive things I did remember. Big white smile, large gentle hands, long nose with a small bump on the bridge. I remembered seeing brown and auburn streaks in his hair reflected from the fire light. Paul must not have been pure Quileute.

I enjoyed the feel of his thick fur between my fingers. It was warm and incredibly thick. Every time I ruffled it, I stirred the smell of pine and mustiness. Eventually I sat between Paul and Jake - leaning against Paul with my feet propped on Jacob's back. Sam came over and sat next to Emily. For a while we were all quiet. No talking. No wolfy growls or whines.

"You know boys," I said fiddling with the grass blades beneath me, "this is really, really weird. And when I wake up from this roofie-induced coma, I'm beating the crap out of all three of you. Even if you weren't involved."


	5. Chapter 5

The next week is a series of speeding blurs and dragging moments. I told my dad Paul imprinted and he just sort of nodded. I could tell he was not necessarily too thrilled with it but he just nodded. I wanted to scream at him to do something. Everyone was so even keel about _everything_, I felt like I was in a madhouse. Everyone I talked to, it was like going to a friggin' therapist.

I just wanted someone to confirm for me – by some show of emotion – that this was not normal. This was weird. It might be good, it might be bad, but it was _weird._ Having people pretend it was so normal, acting like I was a psych patient just made me angry.

Jacob I could tell was less than pleased. I couldn't do anything about it, but he glared at Paul a lot more than was really necessary. I told him to cut the crap and he'd been shocked by my reaction.

"What?" he asked in frustration, "You love the guy already? It's been a week, Rach."

"No," I said stubbornly, "but from the little I've learned, I know this isn't something any of you can control. He can hardly be blamed for it. _You_ might imprint someday Jake and I'm not going to hold that against you. This is weird enough without you being a cry baby about it."

"A _cry baby_?" he asked in awe, "I'm not being a cry baby. Rachel, you barely know the guy. I can tell you from experience he's the pack d-bag, okay? I'm sorry you got landed with that, but it's the simple truth. I like him well enough but not for my sister."

"Jacob Black!" I shouted, "How dare you! What kind of double standard is that? And his behavior with you bunch of idiots is rather irrelevant to our relationship unless you're talking about me. Which you shouldn't be."

And that was the ring of our arguments for about a while. I admit I slapped Jake around a bit. Not that he probably even felt it, now being made of russet steel – just like the rest of them.

Ironically enough, Paul – my imprinter – was the only real beacon of sanity I had. You would think, the whole concept would just freak me the hell out and I'd want my distance for a while. But no; everyone else around me was acting so freaking weird, that _Paul_ was the only normal one around me. Maybe because everyone else knew me pre- and post-imprint, but Paul's perceptions of me didn't operate like that. Like he'd explained, they weren't static but just fundamentally different. He wouldn't treat me any different because he never knew me in any other reality.

Well, Emily was good, too, but I didn't get to see her much. Most of my high school friends were no longer around and the few pack members I knew were walking on eggshells around me. And I didn't even put off that kind of vibe! Where was this coming from? Why did everyone think I was so unstable all the time?

Anyways, I knocked on Paul's door one morning – about a week and a half after the horrid night of near death experiences and vomiting. It was ten thirty, I figured he'd be up by now but my assumption was slowly withering as I knocked for a third time.

His door finally wheezed open and I was greeted with a disheveled and bleary-eyed Paul. I felt bad but also couldn't help but smile a little. He looked cute with bed head. "Sorry?" I offered eloquently. "You guys nocturnal or something?"

"Rachel!" he smiled, finally realizing _who_ was at his door. He bent down and gave me a giant bear hug, lifting me off the ground. I was overwhelmed with his proximity and warmth. "No, we're not nocturnal. I was on patrol last night."

He set me down and invited me in while he went to dig out a shirt. "So," he called from his room, "what brings you to this hell hole?" I looked around me. The house was nice enough. Simple, clean, decorated. His mom did a good job obviously. It didn't look like a hell hole to me.

"I _cannot_ stand to be around anyone else," I flopped onto the couch. "They all treat me like I've been diagnosed with some jungle disease." I crossed my arms and slumped down.

Paul made his way from his room to the kitchen, "Thanks," he replied sarcastically. "I'm your Ebola? That's great."

"Shut up," I muttered, "that's not what I mean. What I _mean_ is that everyone is treating me different now. And not a good kind of different. It's like they're all walking on eggshells around me."

Paul had been watching and listening as I spoke. He slowly nodded, "sorry," before turning away and pulling down a box of cereal. He offers me some but I decline.

"Would you stop that?" I ask him. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. You're the only one I've got left. Help me out, here?" He sat next to me – with the entire contents of the cereal box in a serving bowl – and looked at me. I could tell he was thinking.

"If this is so natural to everyone, I don't get why people don't _act natural_," I shrugged.

"Hate to burst your mopey bubble, babe," he said after a swallow. "But this shit," he indicated himself with his spoon, "is not natural."

The tag didn't even faze me at this point. It was remarkable how quickly I had learned the basics of Paul's personality. I'm sure the same could be said for him learning about me. But I was momentarily confused. Hadn't everyone been trying to tell me that this was some Quileute thing? A bunch of them knew about it. It was just something that _happened._ No big deal. _Until you get imprinted,_ I thought to myself.

Paul must've read the confusion on my face. "I'm seventeen. I should be about a hundred pounds lighter, a foot narrower and several inches shorter. I should look seventeen, not twenty five. This is not natural," he repeated.

If it wasn't nature shifting the Quileute boys then what was? Why could they phase? I hadn't been told that first night because no one thought I could handle it. In the week since then my new knowledge had pertained mostly to pack members on a personal level – not mythological.

I'd helped Quil fix his hot water heater because he couldn't fit in the crawl space and I actually knew what I was doing; he didn't have to dictate instructions through the floor boards. Sam was not as cold as before, maybe because I was 'one of them' now. Maybe because I was slowly becoming good friends with his fiancée. Search me. Either way, he was less stoic and more just a quiet guy. He had a really ridiculous sense of humor though. Could I just put that out there?

Embry and I tag teamed Jacob most days. The kid was always up and down. His whole equilibrium was off – eating, sleeping – all of it. I swear it was the Swan girl. She and my little brother were together a lot more often. Honestly, I think Jake was good for her. She looked a lot healthier now. But my brother was all bent out of shape. I didn't want her around if she was going to live of him like some kind of leech. He was losing it.

I never said anything about it, because he was really touchy when it came to the Bella girl. I remembered her from our childhood. She was kind of quiet and one summer she finally pitched a fit so Charlie wouldn't dump her off here and go fishing so much anymore.

Anyways, my brother's sixteen and can make his own choices in life. If I said anything, he'd still spend time with her he'd just be mad at me. I was not ready to repeat the playground incident. Sooner or later there relationship would reach some kind of crossroads. My brother's not a total pushover; I'm hoping he has enough sense about him to not get squashed.

So Embry and I would trade off. I got him awake and to school. Embry got him home. We both kept a mental schedule of patrols and I made sure he ate some kind of vegetable matter every few days.

Plus, I of course got to know Paul. Duh. He actually confessed to me, after I heard _the same_ thing from every pack member, that he had a raging temper. I kind of wanted to know where Jake had been going with the 'pack d-bag' comment.

I was actually relieved. A temper? That was it? I was a fundamentally mellow person but if I got really rattled, I could potentially throw something.

We talked about 'our relationship'. Which was totally weird. Paul wanted to know what was okay and what was not – which I'm thankful for. He never explicitly – or even implicitly – said that his genes kind of just made him want to jump my bones, but I got it. I'm not an idiot. We were not there yet. And I was taking this _literally_ one step at a time, therefore I didn't know if we would ever get there. When I voiced my concern about his being stuck with a platonic life mate, he just told me we'd cross that bridge if we came to it. He was too damn understanding sometimes, it made me want to gag.

Anyways, I told him that I already was a very open person, because he was worried about invading my personal space. When I reminded him that I grew up with another sister and a brother and his horde of eternally brawling friends, he seemed to get it. I wasn't exactly 'one of the guys', but I wasn't going to squeal if he hugged me. Hand holding, physical altercations (at least on my end, mostly), shared beverages, casual touching, borrowed clothes, bare feet, hair ruflling were deemed okay. I tell you, he asked me the most oddball things.

After that, we agreed to just let things flow. "Fuck the imprint," I believe were his exact words. I liked him. He liked me. We were operating from there. I was usually the galvanizing force for new things. If I gave him a hug or took his hand: I'd initiated it and he didn't feel like he was crossing any boundaries.

So I knew personal things. But I didn't know much in the way of mythology. Still.

"I thought you said – and I quote – _au naturel_?" I added the finger quotes for his benefit.

"Natural in the sense that it's in our genes," he agreed, "but there's a reason there aren't more of us. There's a reason for it being _this_ generation, _this _group of guys."

I curled my legs underneath me. This _was_ the part they wouldn't tell me last week on New Years Eve. They'd thought I was going to OD on information or something. "You want to tell me about it?"

"You're giving me the option?" he quirked a brow. "That doesn't sound like you."

I shrugged my shoulders and turned myself towards him, resting my chin on my knees. "The way you guys are hiding it from me, makes me worried. Ignorance sometimes is bliss."

"It's not that bad…" he said quietly.

"Really?" I asked.

"Okay. It kinda is," he rescinded. "But not bad enough that Rachel Black couldn't handle it. You can handle werewolves, you can handle this."

"Okay!" I sighed, "just lay it on me. The suspense is making me loopy."

"Well, you seem to remember our legends quite well…" I glared at him with a nod. "You remember any others about mythical creatures?"

"Not if they're going to jump out of nowhere like last time," I replied, eyes wide. "If that's the case, then I remember nothing."

"No," Paul shook his head seriously, "I would not let any of these mythical creatures within a hundred yards of you. So no worries."

"I remember, Spirit Quests – to find your supernatural power, Q'wati the Transformer, Bayaq the trickster raven… Am I getting close?"

"No not really. All right, remember the Cold Ones?"

I thought for a minute before the familiar phrase opened the floodgates of my memory. "Yes," I nodded. Those ones had been scary and we all had to wait until we were a little older before Billy would tell them to us. Apparently the death of multiple children and self-sacrifice was 10+ kind of story. I believe it. Even then it scared me.

"Cold Ones were vampires right?" I nodded and he continued. "Well, vampires still exist. Due to our long history, the Quileute people have evolved to defend themselves. The purpose of the wolves is to protect La Push – specifically from vampires."

I blinked a few times. _Where the hell was I?_ How many fairy tales could possibly be shoved into my life? Maybe there were unicorns in the state park. Perhaps I'd meet the tooth fairy or a leprechaun on the way home today. "Are you serious?" I asked.

"Scouts honor," he raised his hand.

"But if you protect La Push from vampires, would that mean that…"

"Yep," he confirmed my suspicion, "right next door in Forks."

I could feel my eyes widen and after a moment Paul reached forward and closed my mouth for me. I let my legs fall down, sitting cross legged and facing him on the couch.

"Vampires trigger the wolf gene. When they're around wolves start popping out of the ground like daisies. The coven in Forks actually moved away last fall – that's why we haven't had any new wolves. They moved in probably your senior year; that's about when Sam shifted. Then all the rest of us. Quil was the last."

"So the… vampires," the word tumbled off my tongue haphazardly, "are gone? Why do you still shift?"

Paul ran his hands through his messy hair as he leaned back in the couch. "It's not something you can really turn off, Rach. At some point in time, I'll be able to stop shifting, but it takes a lot of control. It'll be a couple years at the least. And just because the Cullens are gone doesn't mean they can't come back. Or still have visitors."

"The _Cullens!"_ I yelled. "As in Dr Cullen and his pack of perfect kids? Those Cullens?" I had vaguely known vampires and never _really_ known? This was beyond surreal. It was like being introduced to someone and later finding out they died or were sick. This enormous and integral part of _their_ life that was huge and scary and you didn't even know about it. And this wasn't just an illness. The Cullens were vampires. Like living dead, blood drinking, menace to society vampires.

"But!" I stuttered, "they let them _out?_ What if they hurt someone? It's dangerous and they all seem so normal. What are they doing, biding their time and waiting until the opportune moment to snatch a civilian up? Oh my god! There have been, like, a half a dozen disappearances in Clallam county since my senior year. What if they're picking people off—"

At this point I didn't have any control really, over my own mouth. I was babbling. Paul reached up and took my face in his hands. "Breathe!" he ordered me. I clapped my mouth shut and inhaled sharply through my nose.

"I told you," he continued calmly, "They're gone. They left this fall. It's okay."

I opened my mouth slightly, testing myself, making sure I could speak coherently now. "Wait," I said. I had only ever seen the Cullens in my trip to Forks and once or twice I saw Dr Cullen in the hospital. But I knew and heard things about them. Now I was piecing it all together in relation to their horrible, unnatural state.

There was the doctor and his wife – who was really way to nice looking to be normal. She was like Stepford nice. They had a ton of kids too. There was that big one. He probably was about the size of any of the La Push boys now. And he was dating his foster sister or some sick ass shit. But they weren't the only ones; there was that twiggy one and her tall blond Edward Scissorhands-type. They were together too.

Jasper! I remember because the first time I heard it, it made me think of Cruella DeVil and Horace and Jasper from _101 Dalmations._ And his sister had some kind of springy, flower name. Daisy, Violet, something to that effect. But they couldn't have all been related then, like they put on, right?

Paul confirmed my musings. Saying he gathered from the shared pack mind that the family charade was for the humans. None of them shared any figurative blood.

"How would any of the pack know that though?" I found it interesting, but if the Cullens were enemies how would the pack possibly know them well enough to have figured out family structure? My mind continued to cycle through everything I'd ever learned, heard or seen of them like a flipbook or some massive internal Rolodex.

There had been another one. I could see his face and unlike the rest of his family, I knew his name. I just couldn't remember it. But why did I know his name? He had been the odd man out. He didn't have a creepy sibling mate. He… _Oh my god_. He – Edward. Edward Cullen.

Edward Cullen _had_ been dating someone. I remember thinking it was rather odd that he was breeding outside his family – he was seeing an outsider. I couldn't remember who, though. I could see them standing together. In the store, near that silver car, at the gas station… but she was just a blur of color. She'd been very plain, very simple.

Who the heck was it? I knew everyone in Forks. It wasn't that mean a feat. The town was tiny. I thought, wracking my brain for some sign of who this mystery girl was. Who was the girl who was actually able to penetrate the Cullen clan and dated one of the pasty-skinned, drugged out-looking sons? Who did I know that was that generic?

Holy shit…

No. It couldn't have been. There's no way. If it _was_ there was no way my brother could… Even if they were gone. My brother was prone to many things but masochism was not one of them. My conclusion couldn't be right.

But it all made sense. She was a basket case because her boyfriend's family had picked up and left – just like the Cullens. Bella was exceptionally plain - the personification of vanilla if there ever was one – just like my blurred memory.

I had all but answered my own question. _How did the pack know?_ Because they shared my brother's mind. My brother had taken in an enemy sympathizer. The girl ran with parasites. They lived off humans and for some sick reason she actually _cared_ for them? Not even cared but felt for one of them romantically. It was so repulsive it made me gag a little.

My one word response, "Bella," was enough. Paul's face shifted – almost Transformer-like – back to that rock solid, stony expression.

"Yeah," he nodded, "she was practically one of them. Probably still wants to be like them. They up and left for whatever reason. Nice for us… but your brother protects her like she's one of us."

I just kept quiet, letting him continue. Clearly there was more to this story.

"It's like half and half. Quil and Embry like her well enough. So does Emily. Sam doesn't know whether he likes her – because the Cullens royally fucked up both their lives – or hates her because she chose to be with them. Jared and I are not her biggest fans. But your brother is the worst. He likes her. A lot. He _likes_ her – more than she likes him. And I don't think she gets it."

I nodded, biting down on my lip. So my suspicions were true? Bella was leeching off my brother. Clearly, she'd picked up some nasty habits.

"She's messing with him," Paul said. "Unintentionally or not. But I don't think he sees it. It doesn't really seem to matter to him. Either way you slice it, she's a traitor. And your brother told her about us."

By 'us' I understood him to mean the wolves, the pack. "What?" I shouted. "_She_ knew before I did. He's my goddamn brother! He told her. Some stupid girl, who hung out with _vampires_? That's sick. That's absolutely fucking sick! I'm going to slaughter him!"

"Whoa!" Paul put his hands on my shoulders to prevent my standing, "Take it easy, killer. Believe me. We've tried. We're kind of hoping he'll wake the hell up and get sick of her shit."

"She's using him!" I screeched. I don't know who I wanted to kill first. Jacob – because he told Bella fucking Swan about all this before his own flesh and blood sister, or Bella herself for being a sick bitch and torturing my baby brother like this.

"Rach," Paul said quietly. "There's nothing you can do about it." And that simple – yet amazingly true – statement made me so indescribably sad. All my anger had melted away into this pool dejection. No matter how much I wanted to help or change things, I couldn't. I would have to sit by – with the full knowledge of how Jacob was being mentally and emotionally taxed – and I could do _nothing._

"But," I said quietly, hunching forward and feeling the hot tears brim my eyes, "he's my baby brother."

"I know Rach," Paul drew his hands from my shoulders to my waist and pulled me to his chest. "I know."

I couldn't help but notice that everytime I went somewhere with one goal or intention a million different things ended up coming out of it. I came by Paul's to escape my house and spend time with only person who acted normal around me and ended up with another dump truck full of information.

But that's how I got my second question answered. Just like learning about the wolves, I learned all about the Cullens. How they fed on animals, the treaty and our respective territory, their natural strengths and individual abilities. How they'd left and no one really knew why.

I had left my house that morning because I was tired of arguing with my brother. Part of me just wanted to run home and hug him until the day I died. I wanted to be in sixth grade again, where I could make things like this go away with some tough words and a few well-placed punches. I don't doubt either of those would scare Bella Swan off, but it wasn't my place anymore. This was bigger than playground teasing. I could talk to Jacob until I passed out from lack of oxygen, but I could do nothing to sway the situation. Because he was his own person now and if he wanted to be around Bella Swan, if he wanted to let her in, give her everything she needed to sell us all down river - then there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I couldn't protect him anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

"Paul Aaron Lahote!"

"Jesus Christ," he sighs, "I seriously regret telling you my middle name Rach..."

"You didn't tell me," I remind him. "I stole your ID."

"Okay, okay," he rolls his eyes, "what are you screaming at me for?"

"I heard about today," I told him. To most it would've been a completely arbitrary statement. Like we were speaking in code. Hell, maybe we were.

"God, I don't want to talk about it Rach..." he mutters.

I turn back to the sink with a shake of my head. He never wants to talk about it. That's part of the problem. I just tell anyone how I feel at anytime. Paul does not. You need the jaws of life - or a crow bar on a good day - to get anything out of him. And this is me we're talking about. It should be a cake walk for the center of his world.

I hear him at the fridge as he pulls out one of the three plates of leftovers from Emily. "Are you okay?" I ask staring out into the setting sun.

The fridge closes with a thud and tinkle of jars. "I'm all right," he says quietly. "The big leech got too close our land". I turn around and he's right there, his blue eyes boring a hole into my soul. He knows I worry about him. Someday his temper's going to get him in a whole mess a trouble.

"You're all after the same vampire that's been skirting the treaty line. I don't see why you don't work together. Ever hear the phrase 'your enemy's enemy is your friend'?"

"Yes," he says joining me at the counter with his plate. "That could definitely work the other way as well. Team up with the red head and polish off that vampire girl and maybe a few of her comrades."

"There's also the phrase 'lesser of two evils'," I look at him through narrowed eyes, "Leave the Swan girl alone, Paul."

"Jake shouldn't have told her," he said quietly. He's mad about it. He's _been_ mad about. Don't get me wrong, I completely understand. My brother told whiny Bella about _all this_ before he told me. In fact he never actually told me. Paul did. But we covered that. So I empathized with Paul. But talk about beating a dead horse? My boy could hold a grudge like it was his damn job.

I push myself up onto the counter. "She's one of the Them."

Yes. Them with a capital 'T'. The Cullens are hardly favorites around here and since they reappeared a while back no one's been more disappointed then Paul - except maybe Sam.

But Bella's knowledge of the wolves has not gone over well. Especially since my brother did kind of lead her on. He likes her. I know he does. But I've seen her and she's a total headcase. The Cullens left and she just went batshit. She slowly drove herself crazy. No one likes getting broken up with, especially with someone you grow so attached to but Bella's reaction was not healthy. And my baby brother is making ridiculously heroic attempts to patch her up. Even now.

Personally, I think she's a lost cause. Nice enough girl, I guess, but I don't want her dragging my brother down too.

"Well, you and I both know Jake hasn't spoken to her in weeks," I said pointedly, "so lay off."

Paul just doesn't like her. Period. End of story. She's a bitch.

These times are strange. My brother is a wolf and one of his packmates imprinted on me. So I'm torn between separate entities almost constantly. Shifted around the politics of a world I don't even fully participate in. I only ever get half stories and biased opinions. From Jake and Paul.

Since the Clearwater kids have started shifting a few weeks ago I usually talk to Leah. She makes it a personal mission to hate them all and will tell me the God's honest truth no matter what. Then I talk to Emily because the Alpha's girl usually has damn good insight as well. And after those four consults plus my own discernment and I can usually form clear pictures of a situation.

Plus, this is a really awkward stage in Paul and I's relationship. I mean they're all awkward but... There's this fringe border between us. His mind and his emotions are telling him I'm the one but I've only known him a few months and that's strange to me. It's like we're at different developmental stages of the same relationship. He's at the ten year mark and I'm just rounding the three month bend.

We're still working on it. Most days I don't mind because I care a lot about that ridiculous boy; I can see the down sides to imprinting but that's one issue we don't have. I truly love Paul. Though I've yet to tell him. Color me a wimp but I haven't had the pluck to verbalize yet.

But some days I just feel like it's not right. It's not right because he cares more for me than I do for him. It's not right because he had no choice in the matter. It's not right because my ever even contemplating leaving would dump piles of guilt on both of us.

Paul reasons that imprinting does give a choice. He says it's not just some physical quirk that picks out someone who'd be a good mate. Animals do that and they make babies and go their separate ways.

"There's a hell of a lot more to it than function," he explained once. "Because I don't need imprinting to tell me that you're hot, Rach. I have a separate appendage for that."

Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I'm not so sure

"The way I think about it," Paul reasoned, "guys are kind of stupid when it comes to love and a lot of us walk away from what would be the best things in our lives. So maybe it's just our genes interceding on our behalf."

"Not all of us imprint. I mean Embry? And Jake? And Seth is still pretty young but still... maybe they're all open minded enough to be able to see they're better half when God gives it to them. Jared never looked at Kim twice and Emily was only visiting the res for a few days..."

It's a gift and a curse.

This past three months have been a maturation process. About two months ago both Seth and Leah Clearwater shifted for the first time. It was kind of scary, because I've never really known when La Push kids were shifting.

Leah was a veritable spitfire. She didn't take too long to shift back, but in the interceding time she was mad as hell. Emily, Kim and I used to sit in Kim's truck on the edge of the woods. They were all in there, dealing with an irate Seth and Leah. We couldn't hear them but we knew they were there. And at sparing intervals one would come out half crippled. Like I said, mostly due to Leah's aggression.

I can't say as I blame her for being so blindly angry. First Sam just drops her like a hot potato when he truly, genuinely cared about her. So that makes her angry – her anger triggers a recessive female wolfy gene and that – plus her brother – gives her dad a heart attack. I'm not saying Seth and Leah killed Charlie Clearwater, because they didn't, but they scared him. Scared him bad. So after all that, Leah's in some messed up animal's body and she can _hear_ people in her head. My brother, Paul, Embry, Quil, her brother, _Sam._ She can hear these boys she hates inside her head. I'm surprised she didn't go absolutely and completely crazy.

Anyways, Leah would run over these boys like a cheese grater. Every six hours one of them came out. Quil, Embry, Paul, Jared - we never saw Sam or Jake. And they'd be cut across the chest and back, bruises and black eyes, busted femurs, torn hamstrings, the works. We bring them home – through the shadows of the town so no one gets suspicious – and clean them up while they magically heal. That was the routine for five days while Seth and eventually Leah developed enough control to shift back.

At first though, I wasn't prepared. That Monday towards the end of March, I'd got a voicemail from my brother and then Paul about "pack stuff" and "nothing major" and "call you later". It was practically the same message from two different people. I went about my daily business and passed out around 11:30PM. Somewhere in the night my phone sliced through the quiet darkness with a force to knock me out of my bed.

"Hello?" I asked my voice still deep and scratchy with sleep.

"Rachel?" I heard a breathless voice shout at me through the receiver. I'm pretty sure it was my brother. And he was yelling. Not in a panicked way but in a I-work-in-an-industrial-mine-and-I'm-going-deaf kind of way. Or an I'm-at-a-Metallica-concert-and-my-ears-are-bleeding kind of way.

"Jake?" I asked. "Jesus, what time is it?" I fumbled around on my nightstand and the day glo green blinked 3:09AM back at me. "Jacob, what the hell is going on? Where are you? Are you drunk?"

"No, Rachel," he was clearly a bit preoccupied, "can you do me a favor? Just one thing?"

"Sure," I said rubbing my eyes. Clearly this was important. "What do you need?"

"Get down to the woods at the town line? Bring your car."

"Sure," I nodded through a yawn. "Give me five minutes. Is everything okay?" I only got a click and dial tone in response.

Seven minutes after that I had my window rolled down on the cool night air and was coasting at a few miles per hour down the only road out of town. I was peering into the woods as best I possibly could, looking for my brother or anyone for that matter, and failing. It was as black as pitch and I could only see two feet into the trees.

I pulled onto the soft shoulder and killed the engine. I had no idea what the hell they could possibly be doing out here but I know Jacob wouldn't have called me unless it was important. I leaned forward resting my chin on the wrapped steering wheel when the trees ahead of me began to shift and the leaves whistled with movement.

I saw two shadows lumber out of the woods. Two guys walking side by side. I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. I'll assume this is what I had been looking for. I turned the ignition. My headlights blared to life and I could see – with perfect clarity – my brother as he all but hauled Paul bodily toward my car.

My hands snapped to my mouth to stifle my gasp. Jacob was dirty but seemingly fine. Paul was not. His face was in shadow but I could see a whole half of his face was bruised, the arm not over Jake's shoulder was hanging at an odd angle and he was covered on the opposite side of his torso with blood.

The panic, the unyielding feeling like I was going to lose it began filling the car like steady flood… _Get it together, Rachel!_ I told myself. Because clearly my panic was not the biggest issue here. I took a deep breath – in through the nose out through the mouth – and stepped out of the car. I opened the passenger side and pulled the seat back as far as it would go.

I stood up and the gimpy pair had made it to my car. Jake awkwardly put Paul inside, Paul swearing and wincing the whole time. "What the hell happened?" I demanded.

"Watch out for his left arm, and his right leg. Get him home, clean him up and he should heal up all right," Jacob began retreating from where he just came. I was pissed; I wanted to punch him. Why the hell would he not answer my damn question? He kept deflecting.

"Son of a bitch," I growled as I attempted to rein in my anger and close the passenger side door gently. I took a few of those deep cleansing breaths that I'd learned to utilize in instances with my brother's asshat-edness as I walked around to the driver's side. I climbed in and couldn't help but cringe. Paul looked even worse under the dim yellow light from the headlamp.

I knew that he'd be fine. I'd seen all these boys heal broken bones in a forty-eight hour time span. But it didn't make it any easier to watch. I leaned into the back seat and pulled a towel from my beach bag. This boy – I now know – is champion bleeder. If there was a bleeding Olympics, Paul would wipe the floor with everyone. Paper cut, scuffs, scrapes, bite wounds inflicted by manic new wolves – it doesn't matter, he just starts practically hemorrhaging.

"Come here," I indicated leaning over the console and taking a gentle edge of the fabric as I cleared his face. I went slow and tried not to do anymore damage. "Where's your leg busted?" I asked.

"Below the knee," he told me. So, I gently swung myself over the console and landed lightly on his lap. Because he was bleeding over the side panel of the door and I couldn't reach from my seat, but I didn't want to hurt him further.

He just smiled back at me with a close lipped grin. "You are a mess," I told him quietly.

"Don't I know it," he laughed, "I'm bleeding all over your car. People are going to think you tried to kill me."

"I don't know," I mused as I reached to wrap the towel around his waist and cover the gash on his side along his ribs. "I've got it out for a few other people. You're hardly at the top of the list, dear."

I carefully fell back into the driver's seat and put the car into gear. We made it to my place without Paul's dying or bleeding too much more on the car. He only winced when he moved so I gathered he wasn't in a total state of pain. I pulled up the dirt driveway, killed the engine and made my way to the passenger side.

"Come on," I indicated bending forward ready to help him out.

"What? Are you crazy? I'm going to crush you," he insisted.

"Paul," I sighed, "I'm not a total flower; I'll be fine."

"But…" he continued.

"You're fucking crippled," I said, because it was rather blatantly obvious, "how the hell else are you going to get into my house?"

With a resigned sigh he lifted himself out of the car and I ducked under his arm. He needed my support more than I thought because he was seriously leaning some weight on me. But I'm not made of crepe paper; I'm a pretty strong individual. Just because these boys were tall and strong themselves, didn't mean they weighed a metric ton. I kicked the door shut and after about five minutes we'd hobbled our way through the front door. I was quite proud that we made it all the way to our closet of a bathroom without waking my dad.

Now, I consider this day – above all others – to be a turning point in our relationship. Because we'd reached this impasse and we had to find some way to overcome it. There were solutions other than the one we chose that might've suited other people in other times. But this decision sort of set the course for us, for who we were _together_ and what we'd inevitably become.

"Okay," I said awkwardly because this was about to become really weird. "Can you stand up on your own?" I asked.

"That would be a no," Paul nodded from his spot on the closed toilet. "I can barely sit here."

_Fantastic_. Because in addition to being bloody, he was covered in sweat and all manner of dirt and forest debris. He needed a shower. And he couldn't even stand up.

"Is this going to be weird?" I don't know why I even bothered asking. I think weirdness might've been guaranteed.

"Is what going to be weird?"

"Paul," I said flatly, "you need a shower but you can't even stand in said shower. Unless you want to wait for one of the guys to get off duty and help you it's going to have to be me."

He sighed and leaned back against the tank with a light clank, "This is going to rob me of any dignity I have, isn't it?"

I sat on the edge of the sink, thinking. I can't say as I blamed him for not being gung ho about this. I would've been pretty embarrassed if the tables were turned. He was helpless to even move on his own for the next few hours and now I had to strip him down and help him shower?

Then I decided that there shouldn't be any awkwardness, because regardless of where life took us, Paul was always going to be a really important figure in my life. There couldn't be walls between us. We'd have to break them down eventually and I believe life had just presented us with a sledgehammer for our first demo.

Fuck the awkwardness, I decided. We were totally running the gamut with this relationship, might as well keep going. I hopped off the sink fished a hair tie out of the medicine cabinet and tied my long black hair into a knot on top of my head. I slipped off my flip flops and tugged my old t-shirt over my head revealing my basic white bra.

Paul just sort of stared at me like I was crazy. Then he was just plain old _staring_ at me. After eight years of hockey, I wasn't exactly some tiny sprite but I certainly had plenty in the way of muscle tone. "Look," I rolled my eyes, "I'm not going to rob you of your self-respect by approaching this like some clinical nursing home."

He laughed quietly for a moment, "my girlfriend fucking rocks."

I shook my head and slid off my sweat pants. Paul got up and was leaning against me as I pushed his shorts down. So, I in my white bra and neon green boy shorts, and Paul in his navy blue boxers climbed unsteadily into the tub. I kept one arm around him as I leaned down to turn on the water. The hot water rattled through the pipes and sprang from the showerhead. We were soaked in a matter of seconds.

Both of us were, for the most part, robbed of any kind of mobility. So I decided to concentrate on cleaning up caked on dirt and open wounds. I stood up on the edge of the tub – because Paul was so damn tall even compared to my five feet nine inches.

I cleaned his slashed up back with careful fingers, feeling the jagged interruptions of his serrated skin under my own hands as the hot water ran crossways down his muscled back. I spent a good five minutes on the gash on his side. It wasn't terribly deep, but he was missing a lot of skin – it looked almost like road rash and there were grains of dirt and sand embedded in there.

He smiled lightly against my hands as I washed away the mud and blood on his face as he held onto my waist for support. "Much better," I smiled too, moving my sopping bangs from my eyes. "You feelin' any better?" I asked from my spot on the side of the tub. I didn't know just how fast this healing stuff would set in but I hoped not being coated in his own blood helped.

His eyes were closed as he stood in the steady stream of water, "Rachel, I feel better whenever you're around me."

And that sentiment didn't make me feel anxious or concerned or stressed. It just made me feel loved. That sort of all-encompassing love that hits you when you least expect it. When you can't help but feel just so purely happy. I think it's the closest anyone can ever get to reasonless euphoria. That gentle release of adrenaline through your veins, just enough to make you feel its presence

For a moment I just stood there, smiling like a fool, as we balanced under the rush of water. Paul's face was just so calm. The black eye and cut across his cheek could've been nothing. He just looked so peaceful. He didn't have those harsh deep lines that crept into his face when he was irritated or busy. He wasn't drawn or anxious. He just was; and that was such a rare thing. I really hadn't seen much of it in my short two months with him.

In the pulsing heat of the shower I leaned forward, ever so slightly, being careful not to lose my balance on the edge. I let my wet hands slip down the side of Paul's face until the rested on either side of his neck and I dipped my lips to his own.

It was an instant shock. Like the rest of him, his lips were several degrees warmer than my own. But I loved it. He smelled like cedar and soap. His lips were dry and smooth and his taste was savory. His hot mouth fitting perfectly with my own.

He was not really prepared for me. His eyes snapped open almost instantly, blinking against the water coursing over us and soaking us to the bone. Until this point I had drawn this careful line in our relationship. We had never kissed because I just wasn't there yet. He never pushed it but I knew it was on his mind.

So he just sort of seized up. I leaned further forward, trying not to throw off his already shaky balance, and pulled myself closer to him, kissing at one corner of his mouth. At this point I was actually quite mad at myself. Paul didn't even have to move for me to realize that kissing him was definitely in the top five things I would spend the rest of my life doing – and I had wasted _all_ this time? I tugged at his top lip with my teeth, practically begging him to get some enjoyment out of this.

I felt his arms wind around my slippery waist and my chest was pressed right to his own. I heard a small thud as his back leaned against the tub wall and began to slide downward, my no longer really supporting much weight, and taking me with him towards the floor.

I felt one of his hands against my bare back as the other slipped to cradle my head. I gently coaxed his mouth open with my tongue and was delighted when he didn't pull back. He actually seemed to enjoy it more than I was at this point. His tongue massaged smoothly against my own, slow and tender.

At this point I was just overwhelmed – in a totally good way – and let Paul do his thing. He pulled back for a moment, taking a ragged breath. I felt his lips at the corner of my mouth and his quick breath over my cheek. His teeth glanced lightly over lip and I felt his rough cheek against my own.

His mouth trailed down the side of my neck, under my ear to my throat. My fingers tangled in his dark hair as his lips trained so expertly down my soaked flesh.

I sat on Paul's drenched lap, my eyes closed, processing everything that had just happened and riding a total post-kiss buzz. I smile crept up my face as my hands rested on his chest.

"Rachel?" he spoke slowly. I opened my eyes and Paul was right there, his electric blue boring into me.

"Yes," I bit my lip. He opened his mouth a few times, attempting to say something. But the movement of his mouth just kept distracting me, so I spoke up before I attacked him again. "Thanks," I nodded.

"What?" he asked through a laugh.

"That was really pretty fucking awesome," I nodded.

"Ha!" his bright eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled. "What do you say we get out of this bathroom and you put some dry clothes on before I do something stupid?"

I just rolled my eyes, stood up and helped him out with me.

Paul healed okay in the next twelve hours. He spent the interceding time explaining to me why the hell he was in the shape he was in. The knowledge that the little Clearwater kids were running around as pack now was a little scary, a little strange. Twenty four hours later he was out in his rambunctious doggy shapes.

Leah Clearwater shifted back towards the end of the week. Some days I really cannot make heads or tails of her, mostly because I can never even imagine what she's been through, but I try to keep my eye on her. Seth is still a kid and pretty much in love with the legend he's turned into. God bless him for it.

That was our first big step in our relationship. Part of me was just seriously turned on and part of me just couldn't really squelch the fear that I was going to lose him. They all have a dangerous job – and that week Kim, Emily and I sat vigil was just proof positive. I knew I wouldn't lose him to one of his brothers (or now sister) but I didn't know the cause of his injuries at the time. And the general possibility of loss still rang true in my head. I didn't want him leaving my sight without trying… without knowing…

I really like the way Paul has sort of taken my stunted progression of our relationship in stride. Like I said, we have our share of imprinting problems, but my not returning the sentiment is not one of them. Which is nice.

Before that day we were just friends. And that was good because it allowed me to, you know, learn Paul's last name. And his address. And his real age.

Through all the ups and downs of it all, we're very good for each other. Paul lightens the mood or can make me have fun whenever I take things too seriously. He insists that life is far too important to be taken seriously.

And apparently Paul has calmed down substantially since we've been together. My first reaction was "Really?" because I found it hard to believe he had even worse temper before he met me. But everyone I know corroborates this.

He's never been mad at me. I don't know if it's even possible. I could set his hair on fire and he'd probably still love me. Anyways, in no particular order I give you the top things that set Paul off, as compiled by me:

#1. When the toilet paper is fed over and not under

#2. Anything having to do with the Cullens

#3. Anything having to do with Bella

#4. Sam telling him what to do

#5. Anyone telling him what to do

#6. My brother's constant thoughts about the "leech lover".

#7. Leah's perpetual "mental bitchiness" and her purposeful desire to make them all miserable "because Sam dumped her two freaking years ago, for the love of God, Rachel, do you hear where I'm coming from?"

#8. The Mariners "because they couldn't suck anymore this season even if they wanted to. I swear, it's like they're trying to replicate _Major_ _League_ or some shit."

#9. Himself. He inevitably ends up blaming himself for the most random ass shit in the world. Usually with things pertaining to my or his happiness.

#10. And maybe the biggest one: anything that makes me less than gleeful. Because if the right brand of laundry detergent is not on sale when I buy for the house *heads will roll*.

And a few oddball things in between will set him off but he's good enough to stay fully human during the experience. Which, apparently, requires practice.

Usually I'm the one that gets to talk to him out of his tree. When he's about to go dismember a packmate or bust a skull for someone else. I seem to have this natural knack for calming him. I think it's just because he never likes being angry around me.

Paul doesn't just get irrationally angry. He's an extremely passionate individual. Most people see his passionate anger, but he feels sadness, love and happiness the same way. He loves his family and me with that same energy he smacks his packmates around with.

But he's a total dude. So don't say anything. If he found out I was telling people he loves passionately he would just get all huffy and insist I'm painting him to be a total pansy-ass.

If I said it once, I'll say it a thousand times: I love him but he's an idiot. And I wouldn't have him any other way.


	7. Chapter 7

"You're going to what?" I screeched dropping the wrench I was holding as I tried to patch a leaky pipe under the sink.

"Face down an army of about a hundred newly made vampires. No big deal. I just wanted to let you know."

I just looked at him like he was absolutely insane. Because he was absolutely insane.

"But!" I stammered from the floor, "But... but..." I was trying really hard not to cry but it wasn't working out so well. I was scared and worried and angry. Over the past few months I had become ridiculously protective of this boy. I can't explain why, but everyone was all over his case all the time.

His packmates. My very own brother. Jacob had lightened up actually, since I scared him within an inch of his life screaming one night. Jake was getting better. He told me it was beyond weird to see Paul hug someone and actually utter no crude humor for the entirety of one of his visits. But things were improving; that's all I could ask for.

Paul spent a lot of time at our house. Like a lot a lot. I felt really bad because I wasn't about to starve him but there was another wolfboy appetite in my house, too. Plus me and my dad who still ate in the human capacity. Jake and I had to take to grocery shopping twice a week.

I had absolutely no cooking prowess to speak of. I am the only person I know who can screw up toast. I don't know how to sew either. Or do laundry. I can fix a leaky toilet or patch the roof though. I am not domestic. So Jake and I usually make a field trip to the market in Forks and just kind of stand confused and lost for a few minutes in front of the aisles. Two hours and and one hundred and fifty bucks in our combined funds of wrinkled bills and change later we have food for the next four days. Anyways…

But I really liked having Paul around. He made me laugh until I cried. It was an ab workout whenever he was around. And he didn't treat me like a wimpy girl. That concept had not really existed long at all. Because I had initiated more than one physical altercation. He inevitably won by either tickling me into submission or simply tossing me over his shoulder.

I also wasn't blind to the fact that our place was one of the only ones that allowed him any peace at all. His father was nice enough sober but a few drinks turned him into a mean man. I went over to see Paul once after dinner a not long after I'd attacked him in my shower. Big mistake. His dad was in there screaming and raging incoherently – this I could hear from the road. I watched with my hand poised over the screen door as Gene Lahote staggered down the hall hollering obscenities. As far as I could see his mom wasn't home.

"Christ alive, Dad! It's only four fucking thirty – are you serious?" My eyes flashed to the kitchen and I could see an empty bottle of scotch on the table. "I don't know if you got the memo but you have to pay mortgage _every_ month! Where the hell is the rest of your paycheck?"

"Waste of fucking space!" his dad slurred as he came back down the hallway. He was carrying something heavy and I could hear it banging off the wall but it was too dark to see. "Should've dropped you in the goddamn river when I had the chance... Stupid runt pup... Useless piece of shit. Get a damn job—"

At this point in time I kicked the screen door open and stormed inside mustering all my one hundred and forty pounds of pure fury. Paul's reflexes were unmatched so he reacted about four seconds after my crashing through the door. Plus, he was well aware of how psychotic I could get when people jumped on his case (he may or may not have walked in on a few of Jake and I's screaming matches).

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I screamed at his dad. But Paul had me around the waist before I could get very far in the door.

I was in a blind rage and was kicking my legs trying to get free. I pushed on his muscle bound arms futilely still tearing into his father. Gene had begun lumbering towards me, and I saw that he had the metal sliding door stop in his hands. I can't say I really cared that he was holding a ten pound steel shaft, I just wanted at him. "Let go of me!" I yelled at Paul before looking back to his dad, "Oh, I'ma smack you so hard, your dentist is going to feel it!"

Paul, however, did care that his father was wielding a ten pound steel shaft in his drunken stupor and was finally able to pry my fingers off his door frame. He stumbled back down the steps and I continued to thrash like a fish until he threw me over his shoulder and began down the street. I finally just crossed my arms and propped them against his back, looking down the way we just came.

"Are you done?" he asked after about half a mile.

"No!" I insisted, "Put me down!"

"Are you going to bolt?"

"No," I extended to the monosyllabic word. "I'm going to walk next you and be pissed instead of having all the blood rush to my head and be pissed."

The pavement stopped moving beneath me and I watched Paul's back as he heaved a sigh. My anger began dissipating and morphed into a deep sadness. I reached down and rested my hand gently on his back. "Hon," I said quietly, "I'm not going anywhere." The muscle beneath my hand loosened infinitesimally and he bent over placing me on the ground.

For a moment I just stood there and watched his face turn to stone. His mouth was a harsh straight line, his eyes creased around the corners and his bright blue faded to a steely gray. I could see his jaw muscles taut beneath his skin.

I reached up and grazed my thumbs beneath his eyes, hoping my touch would soften his expression. If anything it made it worse. "Look, I'm sorry," he told me through gritted teeth.

"What are you sorry for?" I wasn't playing head games. I was genuinely confused as to what - specifically - he was apologizing for.

He looked at me like I might've been a little slow and signaled back in the direction of his house. "You were just... You were with me that whole time right? Drunken father, screaming girlfriend, panic stricken boyfriend, near acts of violence? Any of this ringing a bell? I'm sorry you were exposed to that."

My shoulders sagged, realizing he was apologizing for something he had no control or blame for. I looked up in his eyes. He may not have held the control or the blame but all the guilt sat on him. I could see it weighing on him.

I shook my head. "Come here, you idiot," I said fondly. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for," I said deliberately. I took a deep breath enjoying his smell of pine and cotton and must, hoping the sentiment of my statement sunk in a bit.

I picked my face up after a moment, my nose just grazing his, not realizing he was so close. "Does he always talk to you like that?" I ask quietly focusing on the decal on his t-shirt and not the feuding tides of sadness and anger in his eyes.

"Usually not until six or seven. Four thirty is a bit early for us," he informed me.

"Paul," I sighed, finally meeting his gaze, "I'm being serious."

"So am I," he heaved a single humorless laugh. "Why do you think I convinced my mom to pick up second shift at the hospital? That way he's passed out when she gets home, sober when they wake up and I deal with his shit at night."

I dipped my forehead to his own and closed my eyes. "He could hurt you or your mom. What I just witnessed was not an agreeable drunk."

"He can't hurt me. That's the beauty of it." I didn't want to mention to Paul how much his dad could potentially screw him up beyond simply smacking him with some piece of the house. There was a shit ton of mental baggage that came with that. It was the principle of the matter.

"You know you're not stupid right?" I said the echo of Gene's diatribe still reverberating through my skull. I didn't want that sticking with him and who knew how long he'd been hearing it. I hadn't known him that long and I didn't know if anyone had ever refuted his father's sentiment. Argued to the contrary. "You're a truly fantastic person, Paul. I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes."

"Thanks," I felt him nod, "and yeah... I know I'm not stupid. I used to wonder when I was a kid but I've learned to rise above it."

"Or are you just numb?" I asked my eyes still sealed.

He chuckled once more. "Smart lady I have here. Maybe a little of both."

I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

That's my first exposure to the insanity that is Paul's home life. He gets shit from the pack because he is honestly a pain in the ass a lot of the time. Most of their crap seems mutual. It's like they just all bitch at each other all the time; there's not much ill intent behind it. That's why I say the pack is the best thing to ever happen to some of them. You get a family by default, because no matter how stupid they act, the others will always be there to drag their ass home. And without imprinting who knows if Paul and I would have ever dated. Probably not because in my former reality he was too young for me.

And that's why I really would rather Paul crash on my couch after patrols or eat dinner here. The less he's at home the better. It's going to poison him and he just doesn't need it.

So I was kind of protective of this guy. I can't help it. It's reflexive now. So when he comes home, kisses the top of my head and tells me he's going to 'the most epic battle La Push has ever seen' I get a little concerned.

I know he and my brother and the rest of them are made of tough stuff - tougher even then those vampires sometimes - but I just want to chain him to the house sometimes.

The unnecessary risk taking worries me. I enjoy a good adrenaline rush. We all do stupid stuff for fun, but sometimes I think he takes his resilience for granted. And no, I'm still not attached to him the way I know he is to me, but I would be a mess if he got himself truly hurt. Or worse.

I had heard blips of this from Jacob. Something about "newborns" as he ran around the house looking for stuff and talking on the phone before leaving again. I was also beginning to sense a serious amount of tension between my brother and the rest of the pack. I usually saw things from Paul's perspective in regards to 'the rest of the pack'. I didn't have quite the same amount of leeway inside anyone else's mind.

In the end all his time at my house was well spent. After he told me he was going to take on a bunch of monsters he insisted on showing me how to defend myself. Because after all these years of life, I was going to get attacked by a vampire now. So that afternoon, he and my brother gave me the run down.

"You're one of us, Rach," Paul told me as he and Jacob led me to the backyard. "It's totally possible for any of them to pick it up. My smell, Jake's smell… it's all over you and this house."

Jacob shrugged and nodded his head. "If any of them have some kind of insane stroke of luck and actually make it into LaPush, the house is sitting bullseye. And so are you, unfortunately…" he finished that last part quietly. I had a double whammy. I was coated in the aroma of two pack boys. One brother, one boyfriend.

"What about Emily?" I asked. "Is she getting taught this stuff? She's the Alpha's fiancée. I feel like she's worse off than me."

"Yeah," Paul said, "if any vampire were to figure out that the big black dog was Alpha and then trace her all the way back here. There's a lot of thought involved in that."

"Finding you," Jake continued, "doesn't require much thought once they get close enough. All they know is that there's a powerful scent of a couple guys on you. She must be important. Get her."

"Fine!" I threw my arms up in surrender. I plopped down on the grass and the remainder of the afternoon was spent learning.

I learned that you can kill vampires with big werewolf teeth – which I have no of – or if you yourself are a vampire – which I am no. After hearing all the way that I was incapable of killing a vampire we got down how I could at least maybe defend myself for a few minutes.

"Fire!" Jacob said in epiphany while he snapped his fingers. Remember that Jasper-kid?

"Dude," Paul responded, "I'm pretty sure he's like twenty-five. Or a hundred and twenty-five… depending on how you look at it."

"Who the hell cares," Jake shook his head, "_The point is_ you kill a vamp with fire. So I'm pretty sure that narrows our range of weaponry."

"Matches, lighters, firearms, hand grenades, napalm…" Paul began listing as my mouth dropped open.

"And where, pray tell," I asked, "are you keeping your hand grenades and napalm?" We had a few shotguns, a rifle and few handguns stowed in a gun chest in Billy's room. They had only ever been used for shooting ranges. Not shooting the undead.

"My dad may or may not have some Vietnam-era paraphernalia in our shed in the backyard."

"So," I continued trying to ignore the fact that Paul had a small armory going, "Are they like zombies? All you need is fire?"

"I guess so," Jake shrugged again, "Except they have brains, they don't eat them."

As the sun went down and we finished I felt like a fully licensed pyrotechnical genius. I had to talk them out of the whole 'napalm' idea. I already knew how use all the guns we owned and I got some basic DIY flamethrower knowledge.

In the long run, though – they both assured me – no one the res would really actually need it, because there would always be a few on patrol and the chances of a newbie slipping by were slim to none.


	8. Chapter 8

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! _Is what I was greeted with as I was making a series of vain attempts to guesstimate how much new grout my bathroom was going to need in the near future.

I stepped out of the room and looked towards the door.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_Seriously?_

Whoever the hell was on the other side of my door didn't even pause between knocks. Or rather battering rams than knocks. I was home alone today. Billy mumbled something incoherent about council and Sue and I just took that to mean that he didn't really want to tell me so I just nodded and gave him a hug goodbye.

Jake and Paul had - for a week solid - been muttering 'pack stuff' at me while averting my gaze. I understand they do stuff and they want to keep some of it to themselves. I'm not a total nosebag, but I was getting worried. I was about _this_ close to calling up Collin – who it was rather heavily rumored had a crush on me – and possibly flirting the truth out of him. But that would've been mean. I wasn't that desperate yet.

It had been almost one month to the day that Paul had come home after jumping a Cullen boy. Three months ago the Clearwater kids had shifted and the boys stumbled out of the woods at periodic intervals looking like chewed bubble gum. Three months ago, I had kissed Paul half-naked in my shower. It had been an excellent turning point. Now we kissed all the time – and it was natural and not awkward for him at all like I thought it would be. We blended rather seamlessly into that portion of our relationship.

But the 'pack stuff' excuse was back. And it wasn't like last time where they were hesitant to tell me about Seth and Leah. No, they just wouldn't tell me period. Both Jake and Paul – and I even asked Quil and Jared – just kept telling me they would let me know when they knew the whole story.

Bull.

Jake had been gone every night this week. And he always came home – at godawful hours – sweaty, dirty and beaten up. I didn't ask; I just made him some food and did the laundry.

This morning I had woken up and after noticing the funny shadows cast around my room, I turned to my window. There was a large dry-mud paw print on the glass. I shook my head and smiled. Paul did this whenever we went long stretches of time without seeing each other. I think it was just his way of saying he missed me. On patrol during late nights or simply passing by, he'd press his huge front paw to my window. I never saw him do it, never heard him through my sleep, but it was nice.

It was nice when I went a few days without seeing him and he explained that it was his turn for day shifts on patrol. Understandable. Recently, I had just been fucking pissed because I hadn't even _seen_ him – not like stopped and talked, I mean actually _seen_ with my eyes – in ten days. I was glad to know he hadn't fallen off the fucking planet, but the paw print just reminded me that they were all gone all the time and I had no idea why.

So, I had started my day half pissed, half antsy. I decided to get some work done and yesterday a tile fell off the bathroom wall. The bathroom grout had all but dissolved and molded over in its near constant exposure to Washington moisture and Pacific salty air. And that brings us up to now. The asshat with a goddamn death wish on the other side of my door, trying to break it down like fucking Mongoloid. And me in the bathroom with a spackling knife.

I marched over to the door unlocked the deadbolt; not waiting for the banging to pause I ripped the door open. "WHAT!" I screamed. I had about .7 seconds to realize that it was Paul trying break through the wooden door before he just barreled in the house. He disappeared into the living room and I simply followed – mouth agape. Seemingly unaware of his royally pissed off girlfriend giving him a glare fit to smite Genghis Khan, he grabbed a pair of his shorts out of the clean laundry I'd just folded and stacked on the couch. He dropped his phone on the table and proceeded into the kitchen.

I followed at a slower pace and was standing in the doorway, watching his back as he pulled an apple out of the fruit bowl and set his stuff on the counter.

He finally slowed and turned around and looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I stood there, my hands on my hips, my mouth a tight line.

"If I kiss you are you going to hit me?" he asked.

"Probably," I growled.

He nodded, processing my answer. "I'll chance it," he shrugged. He took a step, closing the distance between us in the tiny kitchen, he dipped his face to my own and I felt the heat roll off him in waves as his mouth met mine.

My tight-lipped expression loosened immediately. It was practically a reflexive reaction for me at this point. His cedar smell flooding over my cheeks, my lips. He was right about my smacking him, because I can't simply let him bail on me for days – _without so much as a word_ – and let him walk away unscathed.

However, I missed him terribly. And I missed _this_. I missed the way he bent over me when we kissed. I missed being pulled right against him and feeling his natural body heat slowly tingle through me. I missed his fingers in my hair and his hand at my back. I missed his lips and their adventurous travel across my jaw, down my neck, over my shoulder. I missed the post-kiss buzz I usually rode for a few moments after the fact. I just missed the shit out of him. So fuck it all, if I was at least going to get something good out of this situation before I retaliated.

His hands rested on my hips, threading lightly through my belt loops. I felt his thumbs begin a warm and gentle rhythm. I felt his teeth graze my bottom lip and knew if I went any further I would be a lost cause for the anger train. I lifted my right hand off of his forearm, reached up and slapped him.

"Ow!"

His face turned only slightly with the force of my attack. It broke our locked lips and I was now facing his reddening cheek. "What the fuck is going on, Paul!" I growled. He sighed, both of us already knowing where this conversation was bound to go.

"You disappear off the fucking planet – and I know, okay, _I know_ – it's just part of the job description. I know you'll leave at weird times and come back at weird times. I know you're going to get beat up. I know you're not going to be able to tell me everything. I get it. But I can't take it all at once! I need something!"

He sighed still not moving any further away from me, his hands still on my hips. "Remember that pack of newborn vampires I told you about last week?"

I nodded in affirmation. I could feel the remnants of last week's rolling nausea coming back to me. I knew where this was going. "They're here," it wasn't a question.

"They're here," he nodded. "We've been out every night learning how to fight the newborns. The Cullens have an old veteran on their side. Half an hour ago they were an hour away."

Then, like something from a bad horror movie his phone vibrated against the table in the living room. A moment later it rang. I had programmed Paul's phone to ring with that same tone you hear constantly in Jurassic Park 3 when they're all drowning to Sam's number. Because Sam was nice to everyone except the morons in the pack. Admittedly they _were_ morons, but it still made me laugh hearing him roar like a dinosaur from the other end sometimes. It was funny then. Now it was just freaking ominous.

"Shit," he muttered, "Look, Rach, I gotta go. Do me a favor. Stay here? You remember what I taught you?"

"Paul," I sighed, "I'm not throwing a damn grenade in the front yard…" recalling his and Jacob's instructions on how to possibly defend myself against a vampire. After that, I had to talk him and Embry out of making napalm.

"Just stay in the house, please?" he pleaded with me. He was begging. I really didn't want any of them going, but I had accepted the fact that I was going to have to live with it. This was my job. As someone who would inevitably spend some degree of the rest of her life with these boys, I knew I would have to do this more than once. I would have to just put on my big kid face and let them go. Because it was _their_ job.

"Yes, yes. Fine," I muttered trying to remain as calm as I could, and ignoring that tell-tale nausea's return. "Doors and windows closed and locked. Keep my lighter on me and the gun locker open," I repeated his instructions back to him.

"That's my girl," he leaned forward and gave my forehead a quick peck. He picked up his shorts and the apple and made for the door. I followed him over, knowing he wouldn't leave the front porch until he heard me lock the dead bolt. "If anything goes wrong, just scream like hell. Collin and Brady will be around."

I nodded not having enough confidence in my stomach to not betray me should I open my mouth. He slipped out and I bolted the door behind him. I pressed my back to the door and slid down to the floor. I leaned against my knees and tangled my hands in my hair. What was I doing? I really couldn't care less what happened to me. Okay, that's a lie; I did care. But wherever they were going was a decent ways off and I doubted any of these vampires would find little old La Push. The very stench of the pack I would think would drive them away, not bring them closer.

I was worried about all my family and friends. Paul, Jake, Quil, Embry, Sam, Leah, Seth, Jared – all of them. And all because the Cullens had to go befriending the humans. They couldn't simply stick with their own damn kind like every other mythical creature on this godforsaken planet. They got tangled up with Bella the maneater. If I had some eerie feelings about her before, I down right hated her now.

The Cullens had returned a few weeks ago and she just fucking bolted. I don't deny that she did make a few attempts to at least try and explain to my brother that she didn't like him _like that_. But regardless, she broke his damn heart by running right back to the bastard that had dropped her like a hot potato. Way to rep all us strong womenfolk, Bella.

I am convinced now more than ever that she's an evil bitch. She clung to Jacob for a few months like some parasite, just trying to survive and he actually did her so much good – despite my feelings about her – and in the end, she completely blindsided him. Who does that someone? _Who?_ How spineless do have to be to go crawling back to _that_ kind of guy. A guy who wasn't even human. Through and through, clearly. Especially when someone else is practically making themselves sick to help you.

And now the whole Cullen family was out there getting ready to protect this sadistic little chickadee. Do I want her killed? Not particularly. I'm not that mean spirited. But do I want _my_ family, _my_ boys, putting their lives on the line so she can stay that way? Not particularly. I'd much rather they simply watch our own lands. But Jake – as is understandable – has developed a really strong attachment to this girl. She poured her soul out to him and he all but kept her alive. It's natural for him to want to help her. It is not natural for her to have all but abandoned the bond they shared.

And I'll be damned if I lose these boys to a pack of ravenous vampire babies – just so we can keep a girl that my brother cares about alive. I care about him and Paul and all their brothers. Doesn't that entitle me to wanting to protect them? He wants Bella alive because he cares. Well that's just one girl; I would like them all to stay alive because I care about he whole pack. I'm sorry, but I feel my concern over a dozen boys should outshine my brother's care for one girl. Color me a bitch but the math just doesn't work.

These overwhelming feelings of regret and anger just poured over me. So much I never got to do or say to any of them – my brother and Paul especially. I think the last thing I said to Jake was to 'shut the hell up and just buy some gas for the damn lawn mower, already.' And Paul? I'd just repeated his own words back to him.

And they were all headed into the woods to face this horde of psychotic, rabid, feral vampires. And they were all bent out of shape. From what I had seen and learned, these boys got worried about nothing. When it was just the one vampire and her accomplice, they were excited – practically gleeful. It was fun for them, like average dogs they enjoyed having something to chase. But now this was a big deal and I could tell it made them antsy.

I could hear the wind outside beginning to pick up. The local weather had reported three feet of snow dropped in the mountains where they were all headed. It was only supposed to bring a few rain showers and howling wind to our area. I could hear the wind whip around the house like it was in a vacuum.

It felt like I'd been sitting there on the floor for a while, but it had only been about thirty seconds. I ignored the revolution taking place in my stomach and stood up abruptly. I thought I could deal, but I couldn't. I just couldn't handle it. I was weak. I turned around and fumbled with the deadbolt, I wiped at the bleary tears pooling in my eyes. I twisted the doorknob and the wind gusted it open. I ran down the steps into the yard. The wind was going steadily. It swept at the yard's layers of pine needles and brushed all my hair to one side.

I looked around the yard and the street before me. It had been thirty seconds, he couldn't be gone already. "Paul!" I shouted through the wind whistling in my own ears. Nothing. I rubbed the back of my hand over my eyes to clear my vision. I jogged across the yard and to the wall of forest that began on the other side.

It was midday but the sky was darkening. Leaving that almost imperceptible glow of light on Earth as the inevitable hellfire brewed in the sky. I couldn't see into the woods more than ten feet. "Paul!" I shouted again against the wind, willing it not to take my words to the sea with its own course.

I clapped my hands over my face as I stood on the road staring into the thick of trees. He was gone.

I felt the tears silently stream down my face in earnest now. I looked up to the rolling, tumultuous sky and felt a few pine-scented drops from the trees kiss my face.

Then I thought I heard something and snapped my neck upright. I peeled my eyes as wide as they would go but saw nothing. Maybe I was losing it. But then I heard it again. I swear it was someone calling my name.

A moment later, a set of trees a dozen feet down the road rustled out of sync with the wind. I watched Paul hop out of the woods as he pulled his shorts on. He ran towards me as I was all but frozen on my little patch of pavement. "Rachel! What are you doing out here?" he asked with his arms outstretched.

There isn't really a decent or even classy way for me to say what I did next. So I'm just going to say it. He got within two feet of me and I jumped on him. Yes, I literally _jumped_ on him. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he caught me.

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry," I babbled. "I just– It's just… I mean, I–"

Having all but wrapped my legs around his waist made his holding me rather unnecessary. "Babe," he interrupted my incoherent blather and reached up and held my face, "spit it out. I really need to go."

I closed my arms around him; giving him the tightest hug I could offer and dropped my feet back towards the ground. "Paul," I shouted against the wind, "I love you."

He reached up behind his neck and took my hands in his own, he pulled back and ducked to look at my face. "What!"

"I love you," I said again through a half sob, half laugh. "I just wanted you to know that."

"I love you too, Rachel," he smiled so wide I thought he might split his face in two. He picked up my hands he was still holding and kissed them. "Now, get in that goddamn house and just hold that thought for a few hours, okay?"


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours later, I was hermetically sealed inside my own house. Everything locked and closed – except the gun locker – and all the shades drawn. I had my lighter in my pocket. Because a pack of vampires off in the woods of Washington state really wanted to feast on the likes of me.

I was feeling a hell of a lot better. I was still worried beyond belief but the nausea was gone and I had faith in the pack's abilities. The fact that they knew what they were facing was also made me feel mildly better. Mildly.

"It'll be fine, Rachel. They'll do great. What are a band of stupid rock children against a pack of enormous wolves?"

Yes, I was talking to myself. Don't judge me.

I was still fairly antsy, though. I spent a while watching TV. I changed the batteries in all the smoke detectors. I vacuumed under the couch. I tossed out the expired condiments in our fridge. I was lying on the floor of the living room, watching National Geographic upside down when a sharp, rattling clang sounded off from a window near the front door.

"Hey!" I shouted. It was the last week of classes for the res schools and the kids were starting to get rambunctious on their walks home. I wasn't a total crazy person who screamed at people to get off my lawn but I wasn't about have them throwing shit at the house, because I'd inevitably have to clean or fix it.

I hopped up and went to the door. I undid the deadbolt and stepped on to the porch. The sky was much darker than it had been when I last looked out. The storm had done nothing but look menacing and grace us with gale force wind. I assumed it might've been dying down because the wind had fell to a breeze. I looked down and on the porch lay a rock bigger than my fist. _What the hell?_ I looked up and saw a decent size scuff on the glass where it had hit the window. I was lucky it didn't break the window but now I was kinda freakin' pissed.

I stomped down the steps and towards the road. "Helllllooooo?" I shouted. But a glimpse down each end proved that there was no one there. _Weird._ I stepped out into the middle of the road and looked down each way. Nothing. Then I heard laughter from the trees. I rolled my eyes. _Fantastic_. Were we being pranked or something? Now was really not the time.

I turned towards the woods and glared at the trees. "Look you shmucks!" I shouted, "If you could not destroy my house I would be really grateful."

Then a girl not much older than me slithered out of the trees. And when I say slithered, I mean she practically oozed out of the trees. Like some serpent. "Oh," she trilled in a gentle alto. "We're not here to destroy the house."

"'We'?" I asked. All my senses told me this girl was freaking creepy. "Who is 'we'?" I took a step back and she glanced up, finally stepping out of the total shadow of the trees.

Oh shit.

Pale, drawn flesh.

Oh shit.

Blood red eyes.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

She took in my absolutely horrified expression before she giggled and capered quickly back to the trees. I backed up slowly. She was out of my sight, but I knew she could probably still see me. I ran over my options quickly as I backed across the road. I didn't have time to run into town – despite the fact that 'town' was a forty-five second jog from this spot. I knew I wouldn't make it.

I knew I didn't have time to get into the house and load the shotgun and still aim with any degree of accuracy. That was a longer shot than running to town.

I couldn't bring myself to scream – remembering that Collin and Brady were both in the area. I couldn't do it. She was out of sight and I just felt like if I remained as quiet as possible maybe I could make a break for it.

I had made it to my lawn when I heard but couldn't see her. "That's it!" She prattled, "Run! Makes the game far more interesting!"

"Game?" a droll tenor sounded from the same thick of trees. "Let's not play with our food, shall we?"

_Holy motherfucking son of a shitastic bitch! How many of them were there?_

I was dead where I stood.

I finally turned around and booked it. I heard a cackle as the two leapt from the trees and hid themselves in the foliage at the edge of our yard. I turned my head briefly to see them creeping out of dense brush like jungle cats. I faced forward and all but ran into the truck in my driveway.

I braced my hands on the door to the bed. I looked down and grabbed the large, red, plastic container out of the bed. I popped the cap and turned around. I let the gasoline inside pour a steady stream out and onto the ground in my wake.

My goal was to at least make it into my backyard and to the bulkhead. If I hid in the crawl space – if I literally hid _under_ my house – I figured I could be all right. While they were preoccupied with getting through, I could make my way to the uninsulated part below the living room and slip up through a loose floorboard.

That was the long-term goal. I didn't see it happening.

As I crossed to the side of my house I backed into something rock solid. I screamed and dropped the gas as two sets of frigid fingers wrapped around my neck like tentacles. I choked and felt myself being lifted off the ground. I reached up and tugged at the fingers digging into my neck. Whoever had me, turned my flailing form so I could see. My attacker was male, maybe the same tenor that had spoken earlier. His face was alight with lust. Lust for food. There was no human left in his eyes – large and vacuous – and I could tell it was taking all his self control not slash my jugular here at the side of my house.

I could hear the sound of the blood rushing to my head, desperately trying to supply my brain with oxygen. I could hear my raspy, gulping, haggard breathing as I tried to open my esophagus. I could hear the sound of my fingernails scratching against what sounded like chalkboards as I tried to free myself. I could hear the childish giggling of that psychotic female behind me. I could hear the sound of the gasoline container below me as it chugged its contents into a puddle in my yard.

The gas…

I picked up my flailing legs and attempted to push off the leech's chest, trying an alternate method. My brain was beginning to haze over and I already couldn't make out my peripheral vision. As the man looked down at my muddy sneakers pressed into his chest and laughed, I removed one hand from the fruitless struggle at my neck and reached into my pocket.

Bright spots began popping into my vision and I could feel my brain shutting down and began to forget what I was aiming to do. My fingers hit warm metal in my pocket and I pulled out the small metal piece. In front of my own rapidly fading vision I saw it was a lighter. I flicked it open and the man looked up from his chest to my hand. A brief look of contemplation crossed his face. I felt his grip loosen ever so slightly. I struck the flint wheel against his arm and watched the small flame flare up. His grip loosened even further and now he looked horrified.

In an instant I dropped the lighter – praying it would land in the gas puddle I knew was formed below me – and I mustered all the fragmented strength left in my body and propelled myself from this man's chest and landed with a _thunk_ on the ground behind me.

There was fire, deep yelling, high pitched screaming, snarling, barking and growling before it all faded to black.


	10. Chapter 10

There was whistling. There was crackling. There was stepping. There was movement. There was breeze. There was warmth.

This passing out thing seemed to be happening with a lot of frequency lately and I was none to pleased with it. I really hoped it stop. I also really hoped imaginary creatures would stop popping into my life. Or dreams?

I distinctly remembered getting chased around my yard by a pair of vampires. But that couldn't be right. I wouldn't be alive. I wouldn't be thinking about it at this very moment. What if they had changed me? My head spun and stomach rolled at the very thought, but that alone told me I must've still been human.

As my brain realized that it still had a stomach, I became aware of the rest of my body. This wasn't disembodied dreaming. I was conscious. I just had my eyes closed. And – oddly enough – I was hearing some weird things.

I opened my eyes. I was on my porch, laying on one of the lawn chairs. I sat up – rather too quickly apparently, because I got a serious case of vertigo and an instant throb in the back of my skull.

"Whoa!" I heard a low bass. "Slow down there, killer. You took quite a bump." I felt my shoulders pressed back and I compromised by at least sitting up a little straighter. My vision cleared and I could see Brady, sitting on the porch next to me, his legs dangling over the edge as he carefully guided my unstable self back to a more realistic position.

"Brady?" I muttered. The words were in my head but they weren't coming out of my mouth quite yet. I still had a bit of a disconnect. I looked around me, smelling something heady and unfamiliar. My yard was hazy and my gaze trained back behind me towards the corner where the grass gave way to open woods. I saw a fire teeming and snapping. Acrid, purple-black smoke billowed from the pyre. Copious amounts puffed into the sky as a small remainder hovered low over the yard like dull fog.

My vision was fuzzy, but I could still see someone – a pack someone – standing close to the blaze. His arms were crossed, his back was to us. I looked back to Brady, who I could only vaguely discern.

"Would you please just… not move for a while? I'd feel a lot better." Brady looked worried. And not just about my stumbling around like a concussed drunk. Like a bigger general concern.

"Why does my head hurt?" I whined with a groggy voice as I laid back and closed my eyes.

"You were attacked, Rachel." Brady was apparently not up on my thinking I imagined recent history. Nor was he going to sugarcoat anything. Apparently. "You torched two rogue newborns in the middle of your yard, just as me and Collin got here. You smacked your head against the rock-hard ground."

"Ugh," I sighed in response.

"Doctor Fang patched you up. Said you probably had a concussion. He wanted you to take it easy for a while."

Ew. That did not make me feel any better. Carlisle was nice enough when I thought he was human. Now that I knew all the havoc he and his family wreaked on this small little community, I was not happy to have been an unwilling patient.

Brady must've recognized my disgusted face. "Hey, he's the only choice we got. Regular doctors ask questions and file reports if you call 911 because there's an unconscious girl, a raging wild fire and two mutant dogs in someone's yard."

"Still… I don't want him…" I fumbled for the word I wanted as I rolled onto my side towards Brady, "…around me. That's creepy."

"Bloodsucker he may be, but he's a good resource. He's inside with your brother now."

"Jake?" I asked sitting bolt upright. Again – far too quickly for my skull to appreciate. I sat for a moment, nursing my perceptions of the horizon back into reality as I thought over the days events. Vampires in my yard. Because of that epic vampire battle, with all the newborns. And Jake was hurt. That meant…

"Oh my god," I wailed as realization crashed around me. "Is he okay?" I stood up rather haphazardly, gripping the siding so I didn't fall off the open porch. I stumbled forward a few steps, scraping my knee against the doorframe but couldn't get much further.

"He'll. Be. Fine." Brady told me firmly as he stopped my path and propped me up. He guided me back to the lawn chair. "Please. Just at least sit up for a while? I don't need you getting more injured. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Otherwise someone will kill me."

"Like who?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," Brady remarked sarcastically. "Maybe the line of intimidating men you know. Paul, Jake, your dad?"

"You're afraid of my dad?" I asked flatly.

"You don't know him like the rest of us do. He's a nice old guy, but he can totally kick my ass."

"What's wrong with my brother?" I asked quietly.

"He's in a lot of pain," Brady admitted staring at the floorboards he was sitting on. "But he's supposed to be fine. He got really messed up, but it shouldn't take him too long to heal up."

"What happened?" My voice was a whisper. I was torn between an absolute desperate desire to know what happened and to never want to here the course of events. Ever.

"It was Leah," he nodded. "She got caught with a newborn on her own. Jake went to help her, but he got chewed out. He's knocked out right now."

"Why?" I asked. "I thought it wasn't that bad?"

Brady laughed once with that one. He looked up and was smiling. "Carlisle is absolutely running blind when it comes to giving meds to him because his metabolism is so jacked. So he's either got nothing and is swearing six ways to Sunday, or he gets too much and gets knocked out. Apparently he should be up in a while, but… Carlisle pretty much told us he was going to be stoned out of his mind."

I couldn't help but smile with that one. "Awesome." I had to stick around for that. "What else? Anymore bad news I should know about now?"

"Not really," Brady shook his head and I could tell he was being honest. "Battle went well enough. Between us and the Cullens, the entire army and their leader got polished off. We kind of amscrayed after that."

"_Another _coven – apparently a really important, really dangerous one – came to find out about all the ruckus. But they don't really know about us… We figured we'd lay low."

I nodded. Trying to process it all. Brady hadn't mentioned any other catastrophes. I assumed everyone else was all right. "Okay. I can see all right now. Can I move about freely?"

He stood up. "Walk from here to the end of the porch." He placed his hands on his hips and pointed with one hand. For a moment he looked like a little boy in his stance. Brady appeared to be about eighteen or twenty, which – if his heightened growth matched the rate of Jake and Paul's – probably put him at about thirteen. I didn't think much beyond that. I was trying to keep my head straight.

I took a few careful steps. When I didn't fall over I walked to the other end of the porch, pivoted and returned. "There," I said proudly.

"Okay," he said glancing back to the one standing at the fire. "I'm going inside with Jared, Seth and Leah. Call out if you're going to fall over and die or something?"

I rolled my eyes, "Sure, sure."

Brady stuck his hands in his pockets and moseyed back into my house. I took the three steps off the porch carefully. I turned towards the figure at the fire. I had figured out who it was. I walked carefully across the grass, the dissipating smoke burning in my nose.

I placed a careful hand on Paul's arm as I approached from behind. "That smells horrible," I said quietly.

"I think that is the best smell in the whole world," Paul said flatly. His voice was distant and cold. Like he wasn't all there. I let my hand slide down and slip into his own, allowing my fingers to twine with his.

For a while he just stood there. No moving. No talking. Nothing. He had that inalterable face. Like he'd been carved of wood. I didn't like that face. He never got that way around me. After a while I took another stop forward, standing between him and the now mellowing fire. "Would you please say something?"

He looked towards my slightly lower face. He seemed surprised that I was there. With his other hand he reached up behind me. "How's your head?" he asked. His face shifted and came back to life. He was worried about me. I winced slightly as his warm and careful fingers ghosted over the raw stitches on the back of my head.

"No permanent damage," I shrugged. "You okay? Because you've just been standing over here. You're worrying me."

He laughed once without humor and pulled me a little closer. "I've been better."

* * *

As the fire hushed to a pile of coals I coaxed Paul over to the steps at least where I got him to sit down. I sat beside him as he put an arm around me, preventing my shivering in the evening cold.

He was only slightly more responsive than when he was standing. He kept me warm but he was still just staring right ahead, like he was seeing something inside his own head.

"You know, when you left here you were a completely different person. Did something happen out there?" I asked. "Something I should know about."

His head swayed down to mine. "When I left, you were safe and fully intact."

That's what he was mourning over? "As opposed to my being safe and fully intact now?" I was not playing into this. No way.

"As opposed to your being attacked by two vampires, Rachel. As opposed to that."

"It was an accident, Paul. I'm fine. It was my own fault. I got stupid and opened the door."

He just shook his head. "Rach, this isn't your fault. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have _left_ you…" Now that he came out with it, I wasn't surprised. I should've seen it. He was going to let this eat away at him unless I nipped it in the bud.

"Well, what are you going to do? Just sit around and watch me all the time? You have a job, Paul. You can't just protect me. You have to help the rest of La Push too."

"But I shouldn't have—"

"Bull," I said. "You're going to have to step away from me on occasion. It can't be helped. Even if you were the one patrolling – not Collin and Brady – do you really think you would have been able to get here any faster? It could've happened to anyone. To Emily, to Kim, to Sue… It was an _accident_. I'm all right now."

"It was _way_ too close for comfort."

"You have a hazardous job, my dear. It comes with the territory. I get it."

"That doesn't bother you?" he inquired.

"What? Your job hazards? No. Not more than I suppose is natural." I worried about him and all the others, but it wasn't something that normally kept me up at night. Only in these types of extenuating circumstances. Which I was kind of hoping weren't going to roll around too often.

"With all of it," he amended. "The job hazards, the stress, me. Is it worth it?"

I sat slightly away from his side at this point so as to see his face. He was just staring into my yard, his face eight different shades of torture. What kind of pain did it cause a wolf to tell his imprint: it's okay if you leave me?

I stood up and swung a leg over to his other side so I could sit on his lap. I held his face in my hands and angled his gaze to my own. "I would not trade it for anything," I uttered point blank. "I love you and all your freakish wolfy-habits."

He reached up and took my hands in his own. Holding them between us, he watched them. "I lost it, Rachel."

I was not sure what he was trying to say, but I was pretty sure this is why he wasn't actually able to meet my gaze for more than a few moments. "It?" I hedged.

"Control," he muttered. "I could see, in Collin and Brady's heads, what was happening. I got back here just as Collin was tearing that female to bits. But I couldn't stay human. I was so mad… I just… for hours, I stalked around in those trees over there," he indicated over my shoulder. "I was too angry to shift back and scared shitless of leaving you."

"That's why I made Brady leave you on the porch. He couldn't fit in your house shifted and I wanted to be able to see you."

This was it. He was ashamed of his loss of control. I had still yet to bear first-hand experience to one of Paul's rage-induced unintentional shifts, but I knew they happened. Usually it was something trite, another pack mate antagonizing him. This was admittedly a bigger deal. I had been hurt. Big time. Down for the count, not even conscious and aware of my surroundings. And he was so angry about leaving me, so angry about not being there to help me, that he couldn't shift back. He had to make Brady guard over me like a mother bear.

How do you react to that? How do I tell him it's okay? I always know that there's other pack and family to help me out in a pinch, but I am the uncompromising center of Paul's universe. How do I explain to him that his being physically and mentally MIA is all right. It would royally offend him; he'd just beat himself up further.

I can't just tell him it's okay. Because for him, it really is _not_ okay. By any degree for which the word 'okay' may be judged. And this isn't anything I can help him with. This isn't housework. This isn't school. This isn't people.

This isn't anything that I can be more involved in beyond observer status. I can only watch. And for all it pains him to lose control he does always come back to me. His overwrought, stressed-out, self-deprecating, human self. He comes back to help me. But I can never meet him on the other side. I can't shift into a wolf and help him. I'm stuck here. Human. Like there's this force field around me. I can see everything that's happening, but I can't move from my spot to help him.

And he's not the type to ever ask anyone for help. Boys are not particularly perceptive. And I know that despite their shared mind, the pack only gets a taste for what's happening in each other's heads. You can only pay attention to ten other minds at any given point for so long. And outside trivial things, they sort of let stuff slide. They don't touch on anything unless asked, because you might be thinking about something you don't want to talk about. How can you help it?

Sam is older and does kind of coach each one of them along. He's remarkably paternalistic. A good guide for all of them. He's never said, but I know he worries about Paul's temper. Sam's only been shifting a few months longer than Paul. He's concerned his control isn't developing at the rate of others. But he feels bad treating him like one of the new kids. He can't keep him away from people forever.

"Paul," I began, trying to feel my way blindly through this conversation. "I'm your imprint, right?"

"Yeah…" he trailed. "I thought we cleared that one up a while ago."

"Okay," I rolled my eyes. "What is the most important thing to you? In your whole life."

"Knowing that _you_ are safe and happy," he said deliberately.

"Does this look like a happy face," I asked, trying to maintain whatever expression I had been using – so he could accurately judge. He looked up from our hands.

"No," he shook his head morosely. "You look…" he paused searching for the right word to describe what he felt coming off me, "worn."

"Do you know why?" I didn't allow him to respond but kept going. "Because you imprinted on me, Paul. You are by default rather high up on my priority list. I didn't imprint, so on occasion things like food, sleep and my need for the bathroom will outrank you in importance for minutes at a time but you are damn high up there, my boy."

He continued to stare downward between our laps as I sat on him. He eventually released my hands as I used them to talk and was wrestling with his own head of hair.

"How do you think it makes me feel, seeing you completely tear yourself apart over things that may not necessarily be in your power to control?" I paused and then answered my own question, "It makes me sick."

"Rachel," Paul began. He sounded like he might've been still beating himself up over this, but at least marginally better for the first time. At the rate he was tugging on his hair he would be bald before sunrise. Before he continued I reached up and gently disentangled his fingers.

He looked up at me and his face wasn't so harsh. The ridged line between his brows was gone, they had pulled back and his eyes weren't in such shadow anymore. He wasn't smiling, but his mouth wasn't that tense line anymore either.

"Are you trying to imprint mind-fuck me into _not_ beating myself up over this?"

"Is it working?" I uttered half tired, half hopeful.

He laughed once and this time there was the resurgence of a small grain of his humor. "A little."

* * *

I had somehow convinced Paul that my happiness was contingent on his own and that he should really try not to dig his own grave with this one accident. I know he'll never forget it and he'll protect me even more intensely from now own. As long as it's not slowly killing his soul like it had been – then that's just one step in the right direction.

He eventually mellowed out and moved from total depression and complete self-hate to telling himself that he fucked up (how he still convinced himself of that one, I'm not sure) and for one night: that was good enough for me. It was a few degrees closer to neutral ground.

We went back inside, as I was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. He held onto my hand like a life belt. I didn't mind. We got him some food, which Emily had been kind enough to prepare and we joined Seth, Leah, Jared and my dad in the living room.

I sat on the couch between Leah and Paul. Paul ate with one hand, and continued to hold my own. While he talked with Jared. I drew idle designs on the back of his hand as I talked to Leah.

For a brief second – and I mean brief as in almost entirely fleeting – I was mad at Leah. Because to get to my kitchen from the back porch I had to pass my brother's room, where I peeked in and saw him lying knocked out from painkillers. That sisterly instinct just sort of flared without my willing it to.

Then I reasoned with myself. _She hardly pushed your brother in front of the barrel of a gun, Rachel. She was caught off guard and Jake helped her. Because he's a nice guy and a good packmate. There's no one to blame here._

"You all right?" I asked her as she stared into her mug of tea.

She shrugged one shoulder, "I guess so. I feel like a total load though." She looked up at me with an expression I rarely saw on her. Remorse. It was rare – not because she was a complete bitch and didn't feel it – I just don't think she always knew how to express it. Or maybe she saw it as a sign of weakness and didn't want the guys to see it. If she kept the hardened exterior, she wasn't as susceptible to friendly fire.

"I'm sorry," she told me honestly. "I really am. I should've known I couldn't take the leech on my own… And my—"

"Leah," I interrupted her. "I get it. I know you didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. In the end, we just get to see Jake all buzzed on painkillers, which should be a riot."

I knew for a fact that Sam was strict with his pack. Paul came home all the time yelling about what asshole he was and why the fuck was he demanding all this shit from people that they couldn't do. Sam expected a lot from them all and when things went wrong – like missed patrols or dangerous behavior – he wasn't shy about telling them what was what.

Leah and Sam's pack relationship is – as I can only imagine – stilted at best. But I also don't doubt he already read her the riot act about thinking before you act. He's got that one memorized. Because Paul reiterates it for me at least twice a week.

Basically, I didn't want her to keep spiraling downward. The fight was over. We won. Everyone was alive and (mostly) okay. There was no reason for everyone to be so morose. This should've been a happy victory. If I of all people had to be the beacon of positive energy for a few of these wolves for a few hours then so be it.


	11. Chapter 11

"Jake," I whispered urgently as I opened his door. "What are you doing?" It was about eleven at night. Paul had passed out on our couch about a half hour ago and Dad was still at the Ateara's. I was busy cleaning the house up after the whirlwind of humanity that passed through it today post-battle, when I heard a bang and crash come from Jake's room.

Carlisle stopped by after we all ate dinner to check-in. He warned me – as Brady had earlier – that when Jake woke up he was going to be stoned. But of course, Carlisle phrased it as 'being in a mild to moderate state of confusion and or euphoria' with his tight-lipped smile. I nodded a knowing gesture.

I had been through this before. Jacob after his wisdom teeth over Christmas break last year had been an absolute trip. Of course, that was pre-shift and it only lasted about an hour.

Earlier today he was covered in braces – because plaster just didn't make sense – and pale and knocked out. Apparently, Bella had been by while I was outside with Paul – a fact the rest of the pack had kept from me until later that evening. Long after the bitch was back in Forks. I had absolutely no conception as to why she would be here. It was her and her stupid 'family' that had brought this upon all of us.

I don't know how she showed her face here. And though I was still keeping myself from interfering I was not about to let her cause a rift in my home. Over my dead body. The Cullens were back. She was back to dating the scumbag that broke her heart and left her to die in the woods. I saw no reason, whatsoever, for her to continue to be acting the way she did around my brother. It's like she didn't know how to be friends with him and she certainly wasn't going to take it ay further. She needed to make damn decision before I snapped her pretty little neck.

Her twisted game of tug-o-war was starting make me sick. I shook the sickening thoughts of the scrawny brunette from my head. When I heard the loud crash I assumed Jake was up and doing something ridiculous. A glance through his door revealed that he was – in fact – stumbling haphazardly around his small room looking for… something?

"Raaaaaaaaachel!" he half shouted half sang upon seeing me.

I tried to shush him as I slipped fully inside his room. "What are you doing?" I repeated as I made my way towards him.

"I am looking forrrrr," he paused here. He facial expression indicated that he was either confused or his train of thought had just derailed. Or both. "Uh. I'm looking forrrrrrrr…"

"Something to eat? Something to drink?" I attempted to jog his memory.

"_That _would be aaaaaaaawesome," he replied his face lighting up as he wobbled slightly. I don't really think that he had been actively seeking food but anything I could do to keep him from waking the whole neighborhood. "Do you think we have any Doritos?"

I checked my watch and noted that it was past Carlisle's 'no-food' ordinance. But I also didn't think _Doritos_ would be advisable. "Look, just… get into bed? You're still healing. I'll get you some food."

"_I can do it!_" he informed me obstinately. "I can… I can take on a bunch of the living dead and you won't let me get my own foooooooood?"

"No. Now, be quiet." I gently guided him – as he was stubbornly insisting on doing everything himself – back to his bed and he only crashed into the bedpost once. I was surprised he didn't bust the thing clear off. My brother was kind of a beast now and I wouldn't have been surprised. I was in the process of making sure he actually made it down to the bed when he stopped.

"What?" I hissed.

"Youuuuuu are so short."

_For the love of God._

"I'm not short, Jacob. You're a circus freak." He proceeded to stand up to his full six feet seven inches. He held one of his arms out at shoulder height. He twisted around and his tree limb of an arm swung a good several inches above my own head.

"Haaaaaalf piiiiiiiint," he said as he started giggling. Yes. My brother at six feet seven inches tall and a couple hundred pounds was _giggling._ I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or smash my head against the bedpost.

I was 5'9" myself. I really was not that short. I was grumbling to myself as I finally left his room. I opened the fridge and dug through some of the leftovers Emily had been kind enough to bring over. I finally decided that pasta was a good place to start. Better than Doritos anyways.

I noticed Paul starting to stir – due in part to Jake's singing from his room. I headed into Jake's room hoping to quiet him before he woke anyone else up. I nudged the door open with my hip as I held his plate of pasta in one hand and a drink in the other.

"Bennnnnay! Bennnnnay! Bennie and the Jets!" I'll give him credit, I told him to stay in bed – and he was – and he was mostly in tune with his rendition.

"Excuse me? Elton John? I have some food for you." I moved onto his bed to prevent any excuse for his leaving it. I sat up, with my back against the wall and he mimicked the posture. He was actually calm and more fluid in his movements now that he was sitting and eating.

"Feeling any better?" I asked quietly. He nodded as he ate. "Good." I hadn't realized how tired I really was. In that moment a huge yawn wracked my body. I slumped further against the wall and leaned my head against Jake's warm arm.

"Take a break, sis," Jake said. For a moment I was shocked because he actually spoke quietly. And lucidly.

I sat there with Jake for a while, huddled into his warmth and just enjoying the feeling of being relaxed. In addition to my exhaustion I hadn't noticed how tense I was. Jacob seemed to read me rather well – living in a house with two females he'd always been good at picking up moods – and after he finished eating just sat with me. No more spontaneous Elton John covers. No more hobbling around and shouting. He just sat with me. My watch beeped the one o'clock hour and Jake looked at his alarm clock.

"Rachel?" he gently nudged me to see if I was still awake. "Why don't you go get some sleep?"

I nodded in agreement. On my way out, I turned back to say something but Jake beat me to it. "Yeah, yeah. I'll stay in bed. I'm definitely coming down and starting to feel all that pain again. I'm going to sleep. Don't worry."

I just smiled and left. In my living room I crossed and turned the light off near the dark television. From this angle I could see Paul collapsed on my couch. Normally, he looks remarkable peaceful in his sleep. It doesn't matter if he's having a bad day or if he's mad or tense – when he sleeps it's like it all just melts away.

But from the way the light from the moon and the one streetlight streamed into my living room – he looked worried. I stepped quietly over to the couch. He was huge as well but I managed to perch myself on the edge. At this distance I could tell it just wasn't the shadows; he really did look tense.

I wondered if he was dreaming. Or maybe having a nightmare. It made my gut clench within me. I know my small talk with him after the battle hadn't really helped. I honestly had no idea what to do to help him. How could I prove to him that it wasn't his fault that I was in danger? How could I prove that I would live a long time with him? Yes, I suppose that theoretically I could die tomorrow by some freak occurrence or act of God, but he didn't seem to realize that this was only a very remote possibility. And those percentages followed everyone around. Not just me. And in the end, I was certain Paul would never have a hand in my death – no matter how he twisted it in his head.

What worried me the most was what if – years down the line – I did pass away before he did? After today's near-miss I was here to talk him out of his tree. But as I watched Paul's creased brown and firm mouth, I wondered who would be there if I went before him. I didn't ever want him to be sad. I wanted him to be happy.

As I thought, I felt his shoulder shift beneath my touch. I imagine I was disturbing him. Even in his sleep he recognized my presence – I'd borne witness to this phenomenon more than once. He rolled from his side to his back and his other arm ran over his face as he rubbed the sleep away.

He smiled on seeing me. He sat up a bit and lifted his arm, welcoming me. I couldn't help my grin as I hopped over to his other side and settled under his arm. He smelled of soap and cedar and the woods. It was comforting.

"Will you do something for me?" I mumbled into his shoulder, well aware that he heard me.

"Duh," he replied with a half laugh. I knew he would. But I didn't want to order him. I liked to give the guy some free will.

"I always want you to be happy, okay? No matter where life takes us. Separately or together. I don't ever want you to put everything on hold and forget to live. We get this one life and I want you to love it."

"Rach?" he glanced down at me. I didn't miss the concern in his voice.

"Nothing to worry about," I assured him as I laid my cheek against his chest. "Just know that the imprint goes both ways and that if I ever knew you weren't happy, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Now, promise me."

He thought for a moment. "Under one condition." I looked up towards his face, curious. "You do the same," he elaborated.

"Deal."


	12. Chapter 12

**Mad props to **"MyLifeIsAverage"** for finding the major plot inconsistency in here. Now, that we're all clear on Paul's last name, carry on :]. **

**ETA: Gah! See my update on my author's page...**

* * *

That morning, I woke up – crumpled on my couch – to muffled curses. I sat up as I began to discern voices.

"I can't find any? Did he even give you any extra?"

"I don't _know_. Just find a fucking crow bar and knock me out! I don't care!"

I stumbled half asleep towards Jake's room, where the sounds were emanating. "What's happening?" I asked through the fog of sleep. It took me a moment to register what was going on before me. Jacob – apparently completely sober from the previous evening's high – was in the full swing of genetically-altered healing pain. He was on his bed writhing and swearing rather extensively. I was actually quite surprised.

From behind I felt Paul approach. "Do you know if Carlisle left him anything?" he asked. "If we don't get him something soon, he's going to lose it."

I don't think most people truly realize how much pain is involved in being a La Push wolf. At least when they're healing. I certainly don't. But bearing witness to it has given me a pretty good idea. For one: if they're hurt _that bad_ in the first place, it's going to be ugly. These guys don't break easy, but when they do – it's chaos.

And from listening to them talk, the simple act of healing is painful. Because the process is so expedited it's like there is this concentrated burning at the injury site until all is repaired. Compound that with the natural pain of a severe injury and you have a wolf on the brink of losing control.

"I don't know," I responded stupidly. "He never mentioned it. I don't think so. Is he going to be okay? What's happening?"

Paul braced me by the shoulders and lead me back to the living room. "He's in a lot of pain right. He's going to need something. Soon."

"Okay," I said, my clarity of mind now returned in full with the screaming from the other room. It made me scared and panicked and worried all at the same time. I made an involuntary movement towards the door but Paul stopped me.

Even I knew Jake was too unstable right now to be around humans.

"Look," I said shaking my head. "You go and do… whatever. I'm going to Forks to get Carlisle."

"He's not at the hospital today," Paul replied. "I already called."

"Well," I said as I pulled on my sneakers and grabbed for the truck keys, "then I'll go to his house."

"What!" Paul shouted and stepped in front of me. "I'm not letting you traipse on down to Forks to knock on the door of a house full of predators. Yesterday is still a little raw in my mind."

My eyes narrowed as I stood up to my full height. I was not pleased that Paul was using yesterday's incident to prevent me from helping Jacob. Okay, he was using yesterday's incident to prevent me from getting hurt – his thought process was not actually directly related to my screaming brother. But I didn't care. And truth be told: the Cullens were vile, but I figured I could count on getting some pills out of Carlisle without any of them eating me. It was really my only option.

"Do you hear that?" I growled while jerking my thumb over my shoulder towards the living room wall. "My baby brother is in there screaming like he's fucking dying because some leech ran over him like a meat grinder, yesterday. I got a few stitches. Do not make this hard, Paul. Do not make me choose. I am going to Forks and getting some fucking help and I will cut a bitch who stands in my way. Stop being irrational and get the hell out of my way!"

"I'm not the one being irrational, _Rachel!_" he shouted his arms flying from his sides as he began to yell. "It's not safe. Your brother's in pain, but it isn't going to kill him. This might kill you. Going to the Cullens is not safe for us."

"For _you!_" I screamed as I pointed at him. "They'd shoot you on-sight. I'm a civilian in all this, Paul. I'm not on a side!"

"_What the fuck do you mean you're not on a side?"_ he wailed. "Do you really feel that way? Because I kind of thought you had my back?"

"Not on this one, Paul." I shook my head. "When it comes down to this situation, right here, right now. Jake in there. You and me here and Carlisle one town over. I am not on a side. This is neutralized, humanitarian mission."

"I'm not letting you leave."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" I replied aghast. "You're not my father, Paul, you're my _boyfriend_. Okay? You don't make that decision for me. I'm not pack, I don't follow commands that way."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose. I knew the next words out of my mouth were going to get me in a whole heap of trouble. So much so that I knew it was a low blow for even thinking it, but it was the only thing that was going to get me out of here before Jake burst into his wolf and screwed up the whole healing process and mauled me.

"Paul Aaron Lahote," I growled looking him in the eye. "Get the fuck out of my way."

The command was not lost on him. I was his imprint. If I told him to do something he would. I never consciously did it. So far, Paul had only been heeding my subconscious physical and emotional requirements. I had not specifically _made_ him do anything. I knew he absolutely loathed having people order him around. And I knew coming from me it would hurt.

But he was making it so damn hard. I didn't want him to make me choose between getting my brother help and keeping him from getting angry. He knew I had a raging temper. You can only play with fire so long before you get burnt.

"Did you just…" he began in a substantially quieter voice.

I only nodded in reply.

"Fine," he said. "Go."

With that I stormed out of the house and through the drizzle towards the truck. I was trying desperately to convince myself that I had not just royally screwed up. As I barreled down the only road out of La Push towards Forks I tried to calm my breathing and tell myself I made the right choice.

* * *

I made it to Forks in fifteen minutes. I only knew of the Cullen residence, having driven past the hidden drive that only barely peeked out of the wall of forest. I'd never actually been there.

The sun was beginning to rise and the light was on my side as I slowed to a steady twenty miles per hour.

I finally noticed the break in the trees and the tell-tale dirt drive ten feet ahead. I did a quick, mental victory dance and chugged along down the dirt path.

It was narrow. That was the first thing I noticed. My small truck barely had clearance on either side. The second thing I noticed was that it was long. Even through the new day's dawn, I couldn't make out the end.

After a few minutes I thought I might've turned down a wrong way. Who the heck would live down here? It made La Push look like a metropolis. But just as I began debating making a three point turn in the underbrush versus going back down the path in reverse, the trees began to thin.

They slowly broke and I could definitely see a massive building ahead. I gulped as I realized where I was. Enemy territory. It would be a lie if I told you I wasn't just a little bit terrified. For a split second I wished I hadn't had to do this alone, then I shook that thought from my head as my mind traveled back my coastal home.

My truck finally pulled into the clearing of what I guess could be the front lawn. I had learned that vampiric senses were superb, so I didn't doubt they heard my '94 F-250 barreling down their driveway. But as of yet, I saw no one.

I gathered my courage as I killed the engine. I was here on a peaceful mission. No one was going to hurt me. As I turned to open my door, a tall, blonde figure materialized not two feet away and almost made me swallow my tongue.

"What are you doing here?" he asked point blank. After the scare from his silent approach wore off, I remembered my strength. I clenched my jaw, sat up straight and looked him right in the eye.

"I'm Rachel Black," I began as diplomatically as I could. I recognized this one as Jasper - one of the only names I knew. The weird_er _one.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again. That I did not appreciate. Sure, I showed up at his house without any notice, but it's not like any of them slept. And Carlisle was a doctor. Didn't this kind of stuff happen to them on a regular basis?

My eyes narrowed at his rude response. I clicked the door open and swung it. Halfway out it made contact with Jasper's completely solid form. I heard the dull crunch of metal. He didn't seem to notice as he continued to stare me down.

I hopped out of the cab and shut the door. At my full height, I noticed Jasper wasn't much taller than I, which made me feel marginally better.

"Well, Scissorhands, I'm here to talk to Carlisle on my brother's behalf."

"What does he want?"

"That's not really any of your business. And thanks to your impeccable people skills I'm not to inclined to be friendly and divulge that information. Where's Carlisle?"

"Wait here."

Can do. There was no way I was going anywhere near that monolithic haunted house. 1313 Mockingbird Lane if there ever was one. Maybe with a newer coat of paint but it looked just the same.

For a few moments I focused on the new dent in my door. At least it was proof of this psychedelic adventure into the Twilight Zone. Then I heard the quick snap of a screen door closing as Carlisle padded down to front steps.

"Hello Rachel," he smiled. "Sorry about Jasper. Just like you, we've been on high alert since yesterday. Just in case. I'm afraid he didn't recognize you."

That sounded like Carlisle sugarcoating his family's disdain for us. Didn't recognize me? I wreak of my brother, I'm quite obviously Native American, and I identified as family. Not to mention I knew where the heck this house was. What else was he looking for, a blood sample? _Probably_, I thought darkly.

"Now what can I do for you?" Carlisle asked politely.

"I'm going to need something for my brother. He woke up and was... Like you described. But this morning the pain returned in full. He really needs something, Carlisle."

I didn't want to beg, because I'll be honest and say I'm usually too self-righteous for that. But I was willing to do a lot more than my norm to help Jake, who was now a half hour or more into this pain-riddled consciousness.

"Absolutely," Carlisle nodded. "I'll be right back." He returned with a bottle and explained dosages to me. "Give him two when you get back. And then every four hours after that. If he notices that it doesn't help, then you can give him three every four hours or two every two hours. Okay? You can adjust the dosage or the time. Just not both."

The experimentation had me slightly worried. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he nodded. "It's near impossibility for him to overdose. Don't worry. I would come by but I have to be at the hospital in a half hour. If you need anything else call Reception and have me paged."

I nodded in understanding. "Thank you, Carlisle. I really appreciate this."

"Not at all. Just remember what I said: don't hesitate to call."

I left the Cullen driveway-from-hell feeling better. I knew that with every passing moment I came closer to La Push, closer to home and closer to stopping that ungodly, heart wrenching screaming.

When I finally made it home I took it as a good sign that the house was still standing and I couldn't hear anything from out here.

I took the orange bottle of pills and made for the house at a jog. When I got inside it was eerily quiet. I stopped only for a moment before heading towards Jacob's room. The door was partially open and I saw him laying down while Leah sat in a chair across the room. Upon noticing me she sprung up silently and we reconvened in the hall.

"What did you do?" I asked astounded.

"I showed him how to meditate," she shrugged with a sly grin as her shaggy waves moved with her. My reaction apparently didn't read like belief. "How do you think I get through the day sometimes? I've become really good at it."

This was a new development. Though I suppose it made sense. How else could Leah tolerate running around with that pack of immature boys.

"Well, I brought painkillers," I jingled the bottle. "Courtesy of Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

"Good. I don't know how long this meditation bit is going to work – it's been _quite_ a day."

"What do you mean?" I asked. It seemed like Leah was talking about more than just immediate situations and it made me curious.

She shook her head, "I'll tell you afterwards. Go ahead."

I quietly slipped the door open and could see Jake sitting up staring at the opposite wall. "Sorry to disturb the meditation…" I whispered.

"It's okay," he said humorlessly. "I'm not meditating anymore."

I sat on the edge of the bed and popped the bottle's top off. "Or screaming? Wow. What go into you?"

"Reality?" he offered as I put the two capsules in his hand. He reached over for the water bottle on the floor beside his bed and swallowed. I took a moment and noticed that he looked drawn? No he'd looked drawn since the guys carted him home… He just looked dejected. Like there was no reason to be happy. I found this rather worrisome, but I wasn't in the mood to harass the poor kid about it. He'd had enough crap for a few days, I figured.

"You want anything else?" I ventured.

"No," he shook his head. "Thanks for these Rach. I don't know where you found them, but I needed them…"

As I retreated from Jake's room, I realized that through his blinding pain and his own screaming he probably hadn't heard Paul and I. He didn't know I had to venture to the Cullen home to get that little bottle. My insides rolled within me, knowing that I would have to eventually explain where they came from – because he'd certainly want to know why Paul and I were on the mend. And the last thing I wanted was for him to figure it out from someone else. I didn't want to lie to him but he wasn't going to take it any better than Paul had.

I popped open the front door and sat on the step, lamenting over all the people that were inevitably going to be mad at me, when Leah came in from the kitchen. She offered me a cup of coffee and sat down.

"So," she began. "I'm just going to come right out and say this: Bella came by."

"What?" I sputtered after half choking on my sip of coffee. I spent the morning evading death by her family and she's trouncing around my house? _Still?_ Word on the street – or more aptly, through the pack - was she was _engaged._

Leah nodded affirmative. "She came by and talked to Jake. The Talk. She finally cut it off with him."

I stared down into my mug. I wasn't sure how I wanted to respond.

I knew she just put Jake's heart through a meat grinder. That's why he was so forlorn when I gave him the pills. After stringing him along, even while still technically having another guy (and an unappealing ally of ours) on her arm she got closer than she should have to him. Bella didn't know how to be friends with Jake. She got too close and maybe it all made sense in her head at the time but me she looked fickle, flighty, dependent. A flake.

And now she'd broken it off. She couldn't have picked more ridiculous time. She couldn't have given it a week? Waited until the poor kid had at least recovered? Part of me was angry.

I knew that while this event (and the past twenty four hours) was going to do some serious damage to my household, we'd all get over it. Time would help us patch things up and maybe in a week or more it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe in a year we wouldn't even remember it. As much as things sucked right now, they would get better from here. Jake would be free to move on to more constructive and healthy relationships. Part of me was happy.

However, as much as I did not like Bella as a person, I couldn't help but acknowledge that she made my brother happy. Even if their relationship was twisted at best. Part of me was sad.

"Wow," was all I could say.

"My thoughts exactly," Leah nodded. "If it's any consolation, she ran out of here in tears. It wasn't an easy conversation. I tried to tune out most of it."

"Wow…"

"Yep. Well, at least we know she's out of our hair now. I doubt she'll be around much anymore. Gettin' hitched and all. As far as I know she still wants to convert but they all don't seem to understand that the treaty does not allow it."

"Convert?"

"_Convert," _Leah nodded. "It's a nice way to put it. I don't understand what would possess someone to actively choose that life. I'm pretty sure most of it's current participants don't even like it. That's not something you can undo. But… it's her choice."

"Why does the treaty not allow it?" I had never learned the finer details of the treaty that existed between the tribe and the Cullens. I knew the basics, but this part that would've pertained to Bella was new to me.

"The treaty states," Leah explained, "that the Cullens or any vampire that is on their land or under their watch is _strictly _forbidden from biting a human. And it's a tie between the tribe and the Cullens – not the res and Forks – so it applies whether it happens here or in Antarctica."

"But if they bite someone in Tennessee how would anyone in La Push know? Why would they care?"

Leah shrugged. "Theoretically it doesn't matter much to us – especially if they're not coming back. There isn't much we can do about it – despite our disdain for seeing anyone unwilling enter that life."

"But Bella is actively making her… _conversion_… known," I stated.

"Exactly," Leah confirmed. "And as much as we dislike her – we are sworn protectors and our job doesn't hold that kind of prejudice. Her change constitutes _us_ reneging on a genetic calling. We're almost physically incapable of allowing it to happen."

We were both quiet for a few minutes. I thought over the intricacies and ramifications of being in such an altered world, where half of the things you did were instinctual or required – you didn't get to choose.

"You're going to have to talk to him," Leah finally blurted out.

"I know," I whined leaning back on the steps. It's not that I didn't want to talk to my brother. I just couldn't stand to see him in such a state because of_Bella Swan_. And I really had no idea how to help him My love life was on the rocks right now too. Clearly I would be of little to no help. Plus, Jake was not unaware of my dislike for the Forksian albino – and he didn't do fake.

"I just don't know what to say," I mumbled.

"I just think he needs his big sister," Leah replied.


	13. Chapter 13

"Just… go!" And with that last statement Leah pushed me into Jake's room. I stumbled slightly over the door frame before grimacing at Leah as I shut the door. It's not that I didn't _want_ to talk to my brother about what was happening. It was just that I found it really hard to see him this broken up over a girl that didn't deserve it.

I am biased. Sue me.

Jake was sitting up – as he frequently altered positions to avoid arm and leg cramps with all those braces – with his eyes closed. I crawled up on his bed and I'll admit that it was nice to feel small for once. I was still getting used to having Jake be bigger than me, but it was not an unwelcome change. I leaned against the wall with him and let my head fall onto his shoulder.

"So," I began, "I have this friend…"

"No. Way," Jake replied without moving. "Call the press. Rachel Black has a friend." Normally Jake's taunting me was funny, but his heart just wasn't in it and I myself didn't have the heart to give him that swift punch to the bicep.

"Believe it little brother. Anyways, this friend of mine – well – she just cut it off with somebody."

"Really now?" Jake was obviously not buying my weird line of 'my friend' scenarios in order to see the solution to his own problems. But I didn't plan on keeping on that path. My chemistry degree didn't come with an introductory psychology class for nothing.

"Yeah, and she's kinda torn up about it. I don't know what to tell her."

"Tell her there are plenty of fish in the sea."

I rolled my eyes, but glad this was going how I hoped it would. Now I could properly turn the tables on him. "Well _that _just doesn't work. She can't just get over someone – someone she's been so close to with some ancient proverb."

You see, my brother loved an argument. He'd make a great lawyer some day because he'll argue points-of-view that aren't even his own, just for the sake of debate. So what I was hoping here, that because I took his position on the break-up matter – he'd be forced to take the role of me: the person who was supposed to snap him out of it. Thereby snapping himself out of it with his own logic.

Because if there's anything more closely tied to a love for argument than being able to approach the matter from the other side, I don't know what it is. Sure, Jacob might've _thought_ I'd originally been reverse-psychology-ing him, but he was not of clear enough mind to see that I was reversing my reverse psychology.

"Well, geez. I dunno. You can't really talk someone out of their own emotions. She's gonna feel what she's gonna feel."

"But she's so upset," I emphasized. "It's really hard to see her the way she is."

I felt Jake shrug beneath me. "You think you have it hard, you could be actually experiencing it."

"But she is the only one in charge of herself. She has the power to change her own state of mind more than anyone else. All I can do it watch and hope. I feel like I can't affect _any_ change in her."

"You probably can't. Some things a person just needs to work through themselves. There's a process y'know? And it sucks to have to watch it, but it is what it is."

Oh no; Jake was _not_ trying to teach me a lesson here. This was about him.

"So you're saying that this will all pass?" I queried trying to turn the conversation a bit.

"Pretty much. I mean think about it, she's not going to be upset forever. It's fleeting. The joy of the human mind is that it will only retain and mourn over the same thing for so long. She'll get better and it fades out."

"So it's just a simple matter of the passage of time?"

"Yeah, and after she's gotten over the shock of it, she'll probably realize what an asshole the guy was – or a moron or chump or whatever made him bail on her – and she'll realize that it's better that way."

"That's all fine and well, but what the heck am I supposed to do in the meantime? Just sit and watch?"

"Yeah," Jake nodded. "It's not your battle to fight Rach, sometimes there are things in this world that you just can't help someone with. You can be there if they need you, but you can't fix it for them."

"But that just doesn't seem right. To sit and watch."

"Well I guess it's a good thing. It means you care a lot, and I bet this friend of yours sees that and really appreciates it – knows you love them – but if you keep over-worrying about them, they're gonna feel bad."

"What do you mean?" This was genuine question as Jake was taking by triple reverse psychobabble to unexpected places.

"I mean, she might feel guilty that you're tearing yourself about her issues. So she'll start acting like everything's fine – before everything is fine, because she doesn't want you to stay upset either."

"What? She would do that?" I was shocked. Was he onto what I was doing or really just talking in abstractions with me.

"I dunno," he shrugged again against my own shoulder. "It makes sense though. She probably doesn't want to make the situation worse and drag someone else down with her. This is why you sometimes need to give people some space and not worry so much."

With that one, I was fairly certain he was crossing the boundary from my theoretical friend to the real situation we were both living in. I glanced up at him, my eyes narrowed. Help I may be trying to give him, but I didn't like him painting me as some kind of nag.

"I'm not a worry-wart."

"Ha!" he laughed once. "You totally are, Rachel. You worry like it's your damn job. And part of that is awesome because it shows that you really, truly care. But part of it's also gonna make you sick one day. You can't fight every battle for everyone. Otherwise you'll forget about your own."

No. Way.

My little brother just owned me at my own game. I guess he _was_ growing up.

* * *

After Jake figured me out, he at least humored me by eating some food. He never made any mention of eventually getting over this. Just because I never liked Bella doesn't mean my brother never did. I didn't want this to stay with him forever. That kind of thing could totally happen, right? If you cared about someone so much. I just didn't want him sad forever. Or going crazy.

When my eyes started to droop he insisted he would be fine – though the timeline on that was not mentioned – and I should go to bed. I agreed, only because I wasn't sure there was much more I could do. Jake was right. All I could do was be there.

Jake also didn't let me forget about the 'solving my own problems' bit of his advice. Though I speculate this was purely for selfish reasons, because I saw his phone had 23 missed alerts from Paul. Boy was damn lucky, because I had 57.

I finally turned my phone off – deciding that would be more effective than my heaving it against the wall of my room – and went to bed. The last few days had been taxing – though I wouldn't admit it. Yesterday, I was attacked by a vampire – there wasn't really any getting around that. Today, I had crossed into enemy territory, tried to heal my brother's soul and royally screwed up my relationship with Paul.

That last bit I didn't even want to think about. So with a grimace I shrugged into some sweats and burrowed into the soft warmth of my own bed.


	14. Chapter 14

I remember waking up that morning and not feeling able bodied enough to move. I rolled over, trying to peek through the covers to find my alarm clock and all my core muscles ached. More so than after any hockey practice I'd ever endured. And that was saying a lot.

I finally found my phone – ignored the twelve additional missed alerts – and discovered it was almost noon. And I was still exhausted. I carefully sat up, still wrapped in my covers. I had some mild vertigo and discovered that half of my head was congested.

_Beautiful._

I stumbled out of bed and towards the bathroom down the hall. I was of a clear enough mind to at least notice that Jacob was mobile again, as I saw him putzing around the kitchen. "You want something to eat?" he asked. I thought it was strange that he actually offered, but then again, I had taken care of him for the past few days so he'd probably be nice to me until at least dinner.

"Please," I replied before slamming the bathroom door. I refused to turn the fan on or open the window – which would only contribute to our mold problem – but the steam of the shower helped the other half of my head not feel like it weighed fifty pounds. I wrapped myself in wool socks and some warm sweats and made my way to the kitchen. I plopped down on a stool and watched Jake finish the sandwich he was making. He extended the plate towards me before pulling out of reach. "Ugh!" I groused.

"You get this sandwich on one condition," he told me.

"It better be the acknowledgement of your undying gratitude to me for taking care of your ass for the past three days."

"Okay," he amended as he placed the plate down and slid it towards me, "Two conditions. Call your boyfriend."

"I'm not calling that asshole," I muttered as I took a vicious bite of the sandwich. Jake couldn't cook, but I can't deny the man made a mean sandwich.

"Look," he rolled his eyes at me, "you offered me love-life advice last night, so here's mine. Call the man."

"You don't even know the whole story," I said slamming my hand on the counter.

"You're right, I probably don't, but I do know that the guy's been a supreme pain in the ass. And he's not even in my damn pack. He's developed some kind of insane personality disorder. He's either a total jack ass – like he used to be – or he's a total mope and just brings everyone else down. Fix him!"

"I can't fix him, Jake! I'm his imprint, okay? I don't make life perfect simply by existing! I'm sorry if my love life is messing with your pack business; there's nothing I can do about it!"

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the phone. He leaned over and pulled it off the wall. "Hello?" he whined as he propped his head up with his arm. He was such a drama queen sometimes. "Yes, thank you very much! I'm working on it!" He slammed the phone back into its cradle and his forehand plopped against the counter top.

I gently put my sandwich down, realizing this not normal Jacob behavior. Before I could say anything he spoke, his voice muffled from its proximity to the counter. "That was Sam. He's called me seven times in two hours. Paul is crying on his couch. Emily's worried about him." He finally picked his head, he looked tired, mentally tired. "What the hell did you do to him, Rach?"

Oh no. We were treading into dangerous territory now. Territory that could end with Jacob knowing I went onto enemy land without any protection. If I thought Paul took it badly, Jake would've been worse. I had to address this tactfully, "I gave him an order."

"Oh?" Jacob didn't specifically know the power of an imprint-based order but he grasped the theory well enough. "And what was it that you ordered him to do? Why was it even necessary?"

"I ordered him to get out of my way," I said slowly as I kept my eyes on the formica countertop and swallowed another bite of my sandwich.

"Why?" Jake seemed genuinely confused. I just shook my head as I chewed.

"Rachel," he warned. "Either you can tell me, or I can call Sam back and have Paul tell me."

I nearly choked with that one. If Paul told Jake over the phone the Sam and anybody else at his house – and I doubt they were alone, they never were – would know I'd trespassed on enemy territory. I was bound by my own version of pack law and the treaty just as much as all these boys were. It didn't matter that we were starting to become peaceful neighbors. It didn't matter that my mission went off without a hitch. I didn't need to start an inter-pack scandal, because I knew _none_ of them would take it well. Paul – in his apparently dazed state of hysteria – still hadn't told anyone, probably because he too knew what it meant. If they found out, I was in deep shit.

I glanced around the kitchen and out the windows, trying desperately to find some excuse or diversion to latch onto. Jake must've noticed my eyes linger over the conspicuously Jasper-sized dent in the driver's side door of the truck outside. He cocked his head and slowly made for the door. "Where are you going?" I asked.

He glanced at me once and then opened the front door and hopped off the porch. I watched through the kitchen window, my teeth clamped down on my lower lip, as he walked slowly towards the truck. At one point he paused like he'd been hit by a forcefield, and his face wrinkled in disgust. He took the last step that brought him next to the truck and crouched down. His hand grazed over the dented metal and scraped paint, before recognition came. He stood up and sprinted back into the house slamming the door as he came.

"You didn't!"

All I could do at this point was nod. I was so terrified – not of my brother, let's make that one clear – of the overall situation.

"Rachel," he huffed. It might've been an attempt at a hysterical laugh. "You… You– you _went _there. You went to their house? Are you absolutely insane."

"No, I'm totally sane!" I stated adamantly. I stood up and from the elevated position of our kitchen I was almost the same size as Jacob. "Listen, you were in there," I signaled towards his room, "screaming like you were going to die. I'm not used to not being able to help you Jake. And I've put up with a lot, but this was something in my power to fix. All it took was one trip to see Carlisle. Everything was fine."

"Everything was fine!" he repeated aghast. "Rach, there's a crater in the side of the truck from one of them. I can smell it. Do you realize what this means. You could've been killed, _or worse_." This was the part of his rant where he started pacing around the living room.

"They're not all stable over there. We have no patrol on their land, we never know when they could have visitors! Shit, Rachel this is a total broach of the treaty. Are you sure you're okay? God, we can't tell anyone else about this–"

"Jake!" I shouted. "Don't you think I know all that? That's why I haven't said anything. I'm fine. I lived to tell the tale. And don't tell me you regret it, because you would have been stuck in that room screaming like there was no tomorrow in sight. Don't tell me that pack bullshit, supersedes that. The pack doesn't supersede family. It's not more important than my making sure the people I love are okay!"

He began to shake as my tirade died down. I knew that the shaking was bad; I also knew that my brother had near unmatched control of his shifting, so I tried not make the situation worse. I walked towards him slowly. "Jake," I said calmly bracing his shoulders. "I'm sorry, all right? It's never going to happen again. Ever." I planted him on the couch and sat across from him on the coffee table.

Staying with him was pretty stupid. I'd had the talk from both him and Paul before that about how if them – or any pack member for that matter – were to start with _that_ kind of shaking, I needed to get the hell out of the way. Staying with Jake and choosing to try to calm him was pretty stupid. If he shifted in a moment of rage I would have been killed. The sad truth is that Emily was actually really lucky. Emily is a good ending to that story. But I cared too much about this whole fiasco to just run out and let Jake ruminate on it, because I knew he wouldn't calm himself down. He'd stew until he did shift or was just on edge.

As he sat across from me, the shaking stopped. I felt bad, the self-control required for not shifting out of anger and tearing me to shreds was probably way more taxing then he really needed, given he was still rebuilding stamina. He leaned his head back against the couch.

"How many times have I told you to just fucking leave when that happens?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know you could hurt me, but I'm not just going to leave you here to stew. I have a lot more confidence in you than the others."

"Thanks…" he mumbled.

"Look, I'm sorry. What's done is done. But that answer's your question. Paul tried to keep me from going to the Cullens, but I made him get out of my way. It was pretty bad."

"No offense, but I don't really see where you get off being mad at him."

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, trying to decide how to explain. "I felt like he was making me choose," I finally said. "Like I had to choose between helping you and doing what he told me."

"He wasn't ordering you around, Rach. He was looking out for you. Not even on an imprint level on a person-to-person level. You broke some serious pack law."

"I know," I whined. "I just… It made me so mad. I wasn't thinking rationally. You think I should apologize to him?"

"No," Jake replied in exasperation. "The guy's a total idiot. He could use someone to apologize to. He'll break at any time now, anyways. He's probably just waiting until he feels he can come over without you throwing something at him."

I nodded.

"Just don't ever, _ever_ do that again. Or I'm telling dad."

My mouth dropped in surprise. "Low blow, Jacob Black. Low blow."

* * *

I had intended to something less menial with my day, but found my morning aches and congestion only intensified as the morning went on. I opted for food shopping, while Jake went back for his first patrol. Going alone was weird and my first instinct was to call someone. However, I didn't really know any people any more adept at grocery shopping than myself. Or at least none that would be available.

Leah had patrol after Jake, and probably knew about as much about food shopping as her brother, none of the boys knew anything and I didn't really know Kim or Emily. Okay, I haven't really gotten to know Kim or Emily. I'm really in a weird place. I'm the only Quileute really with dual pack loyalty, because of my brother and Paul. But I'm still an imprint and therefore I do identify with them obviously.

I'll be honest when I say I'm conflicted about Emily. Pre-imprint, before I knew about any of this wolfy business I was still Leah's friend. Therefore, the only story she was allowed to tell me was that Sam had broken up with her for her cousin. Needless to say, I was not the biggest Sam or Emily fan.

Now I know about imprinting. And I know what really happened. It doesn't make it any better, but it certainly makes it different. And as someone who has been imprinted on it's hard for me to hate Emily because this isn't really her fault. But do I side with her on that basis over Leah? Leah's been my friend since we were kids.

That's not even including the part where Emily and I just don't really click on a personal level. She's way more normal than me. She cooks and cleans and is smart and funny. I can roof a house, lay a driveway, I'm blunt and occasionally rude. Do you see where I'm going with this?

But it makes no sense, I guess, to push her (or Kim for that matter) further away. Because for all Leah and I are friends, she'll never understand what it's like to be imprinted on. Even if she imprints on someone, it's not the same. She'll never be someone I can really talk to about that with.

With the resolution to stop distancing myself from the women that could actually help me, I opened my phone and scrolled down to Emily's number. "Hello?" she picked up rather quickly but sounded exasperated.

"Oh, hi, Emily. It's Rachel. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Oh! Sorry. Hold on one sec!" I heard her cover the receiver and then something like the closing of doors. "Back. Sorry about that. If Paul had heard your voice through the receiver he would've wrestled me for the phone. I'm on the porch now. So what's up?"

So Paul was still moping at the Uley house. "I actually wanted to ask you a favor. I wanted to see if you'd come with me to run some errands? You know, girl time? I figured we could all catch a break off the res?"

"Oh absolutely! You're a life saver!"

Wow, she was taking this well. "Great, I'll be by in ten minutes."

When I actually made it Sam and Emily's house she was already waiting on the porch. I don't know if she'd been there since I called or not. She began sprinting down the steps the moment I began to slow. She tore the door open, hopped in and slammed it shut. "Go, go, go," she told me. "If he smells you, we'll never get out of here."

"Good call," I replied, putting it back into gear. "So he doesn't know I called you then?"

"Nope," Emily said settling into her seat and buckling her belt. "I think he was too out of it. If he was all there," she tapped her temple, "he would've picked up on it."

"Are you telling me he's losing his mind?" I asked hesitantly.

"A little bit," she shrugged. "Nothing irreversible. I mean, it's totally self-induced. He'll be fine. He's just like Jared, Quil and Sam: overly dramatic when it comes to their women."

"Wow, well… sorry," I offered.

"What do you have be sorry about?" she replied in shock. "You just gave me totally legitimate reason to get out of there. You saved me. I would've been stuck there until he figured his life out or Sam came home. Really, _it's no problem_. So what are we off to today?"

I found Emily especially talkative. Maybe because she was still riding some of that Paul-induced hysteria. Maybe she really was ecstatic to leave the house. Maybe she really was this talkative and I just never noticed. Fail, Rachel. Fail.

"We'll I need to shoot over to the Thriftway in town for some food and then to the hardware store for some grout."

"Still working on your bathroom?" she inquired.

I was also surprised that she remembered a passing comment I must've made at a pack meeting or bonfire about my bathroom. And that she knew what grout was. From there, conversation flowed pretty easily. It was surprising and reassuring. At the Thriftway she actually helped me shop, she even gave me some advice on simple things to make that I probably wouldn't mess up or burn. I would actually say it was a fun trip.

We talked about all sorts of things and I was amazed at her knowledge base of food and homey-related things. When I voiced this aloud she just smiled. She explained that her mother was always a 'working woman' and while she respected that, Emily always wanted to be at home. She didn't like the idea of working all the time and not getting to see her family as much as she liked. She told me about how some of her friends in school had always said she was being 'anti-feminist' and was just submitting to the stereotype. She didn't think so.

I wouldn't consider myself a feminist, but I'm pretty sure denying women the right to be domestic was just as bad as denying women the right to vote or run for president. Because it all panned down to denying women the choice of something based only on stereotypes. Because as Emily seemed to show me: it's what she wanted. No one made her be a domestic – and certainly not Sam. She never had it as a kid, and it was just a quiet life she wanted. Who could argue with that? So she made some people angry or confused along the way. Don't many of the women that strive to make their own way in the world?

We ended up getting lunch in town and when the waiter asked if she wanted the hot peppers in her Italian sub she replied with a chipper "of course!" that made me laugh. I could tell she was hesitant to go home so I enlisted her help in putting my groceries away and she actually stayed at my place until Jared and Kim stopped by on their way to her house.

"Bye, Rachel," she said as she slipped her coat on. "I had a lot of fun today. I don't get to see you too often."

"Yeah," I replied honestly. "We'll do it again sometime."

In short, I left our adventure with a completely changed idea of Emily Young. She was talkative, observant and would speak her mind. Unlike me, she was just way more tactful and polite about it. I don't know if we'd end up being friends, because we were still such different people, but it was nice to actually know her and not just assume.

I still wasn't sure how I was going to reconcile the old me, who was best friends with Leah, with the new me, who couldn't help but identify with Emily. That would be something I'd have to figure out as I went, I suppose.

I made macaroni and cheese that night and pulled it out of the oven just before it began to burn. I was doing a little victory dance, when Dad and Jake came home. They were both amazed that I made edible food and we actually had our first family dinner in a long time. Dad wnet to watch the Mariners game as Jake helped me clean the kitchen. "Emily Young?" he whispered to me as he wiped the counter next to me. "I never thought I'd see the day."

I punched his arm as I grinned. "She's got me making real food, don't complain. Take your Vicodin and go to bed."


	15. Chapter 15

I needed to get out of this house. Or I was going to go stir-crazy. Another three days had passed. That would bring the tally up to one whole week since the newborn battle. A week since my head cracked open. Six days since I'd last seen Paul. But who's counting, right? I'm not. Really.

Carlisle arranged to stop by to check on both Jake and I. I tried not to act to oddly around him, but I couldn't really get over Carlisle Cullen the vampire. It weirded me out to no end, but I didn't want him thinking I was crazy, or worse, scared.

The stitches in the back of my head were dissolving and apparently everything looked all right. Carlisle tested out my vision and my balance, making sure I didn't need to make a trip to Forks General for my concussion.

Jake was a longer ordeal. I spent most of his check out time trying to occupy myself. Since when had my little brother become my source of amusement? Since when was I bored without him? I seriously needed to get out of this house.

With that I determinedly grabbed our most recent Sunday paper and sprawled out the want ads on the kitchen island. I needed a job. Like yesterday. Regardless of vampire battles, regardless of my stupid imprint, regardless of the clusterfuck that was my personal life I needed a job. Or this cabin fever was going to turn me into a pod person. I didn't know what kind of job person with an advanced science degree specializing in Biochemistry could get Clallam county but I was about to find out.

There appeared to be a position in Quileute Natural Resources Office. I knew that they pretty much kept us all from dying. Literally and figuratively. They managed the fisheries within our borders along with the state, they worked with the state department of Fish and Wildlife on a lot of different levels. Balancing fishing for subsistence with keeping fish populations up, plus wilderness restoration and some new watershed planning. I figured if I wanted a job that had some relation to my fancy education and got me past the paper-filing, pencil-pushing, appointment-making doldrums of any real career, I might as well start with QNR.

No one made appointments there. I doubt they had but one secretary in that place. "Dad?" I hollered, trying to ascertain where he was. The fact that I couldn't see him watching TV was odd. I found him down the hall in the laundry room. "Dad, I'm going to head down to QNR." I showed him the ad in the paper. "They're looking for data collectors. I need a job."

"I'll say you do," he muttered taking the paper from my hand. "Data collection? Isn't that just a nice way to say you'll be counting the number of hatchery fish they breed all day?"

"I dunno," I shrugged, "probably. But it's something. You said it yourself – I need a job. And it makes more sense than working as bank teller or at the Thriftway. At least this is relevant to what I've learned these past four years."

"You know, Rach," Dad continued. "I love having you back home, but with your field, I didn't really expect you to come home forever. I know there aren't a lot of prospects for biochemistry in La Push."

I swallowed hard. I'd come home after graduation this winter to visit my family while I found a job. I really had never intended to stay. Then New Years happened. And my life turned upside down. Through the spin cycle, as it were. I didn't know how to reconcile the life I had planned, the life I had set up, with the life that had sprung from nowhere when I came home.

Yeah, I was mad at Paul. Mad as hell. But I still didn't see myself leaving the res. I couldn't. He was mine, we had this soul tie, that would never leave and as angry as I was, I wasn't about to leave him. Or threaten it. I know he would've followed me to Seattle to find a 'real' job and start a life, but… it wasn't where he belonged. The whole reason we had that soul tie, was because he was supposed to stay here. He was supposed to protect La Push. And as much as he'd imprinted on me, he also has an imprint to La Push. They all do. It's reason for being. Protecting the res.

That wasn't something I could take him from. No matter how mad I got at him.

I knew Dad was getting at something else. He knew that since Paul's imprint, I hadn't really known what to do with myself. Because he was right: I hadn't planned on staying in La Push. "Dad," I shrugged at him, "it's La Push. We're not a hotbed for organized crime or nightlife, but biology? Chemistry? We live in a national park. Not gonna be problem."

"If you're sure," he replied. I nodded and turned back towards the kitchen. "Be back for sunset. It's First Beach bonfire night. And I'm getting you and your brother out of here before you start climbing the walls."

"Sure, sure," I chuckled once. I grabbed the keys to the truck from the counter and headed outside. I turned the radio up nice and loud – all the better to ignore my own thoughts – and made my way towards QNR. It was a bit of a drive, because it was on the peninsula that stretched into the Pacific Ocean. The office was actually a newer building. Modern and still pretty low profile, it sat right on the water, not far from James Island.

I went inside and low and behold I met the token secretary. I knew her from around town. It was hard to avoid in this place. But maybe that would give me an edge up? Most of the people in this town liked me. I was Billy Black's kid. What else did you need? "Hi Mrs. Whitehorse," I smiled as I quietly shut the door behind me.

"Why, hello there, Rachel," she grinned up at me, tucking a graying strand of her long hair back into her pony tail. "How are you my dear? How's your dad? Your brother? I heard he took a tumble on one of those silly motorcycles? Deathtraps, my girl, I'm telling you don't ever get on one."

I smiled good naturedly. So that was the story? Jake had a motorcycle wipeout? I could believe it. "You know: boys will be boys. He's lucky; he'll be just fine. Dad is doing well, he says hi. He's been asking after Ralphie."

Ralphie was Angelina Whitehorse's pride and joy – her greyhound dog. My dad didn't actually care for it, but just humored her. She interpreted as a love for the critter. But I could make engaged big-kid talk when I wanted.

She regaled me with the latest Ralphie-tale, all the while seemingly feeling as if my family was as active and engaged as my polite banter made them seem. Maybe this is what being an adult was. Pretend. Because I'm pretty sure, currently into my twenties and having graduated college, I felt like I_acted _like an adult. Not that I actually was one.

My pondering of these existential issues was interrupted by Mrs. Whitehorse's question. "So what can I do for you today, Rachel, dear?"

"Oh," I replied. "Well, I just notice an ad in the paper for position here at QNR. It wasn't bery specific, but I wanted to put in an application."

"Oh, of course!" she said as she spun in her office chair to the counter top behind her, rifling around a pile of paper. "Albert has been looking for a lab tech for weeks now. Mostly for the hatchery operations. Breeding and raising and whatnot. I don't understand the half of it but—aha! Here we are!"

She spun back around and handed over the two-page application. I decided to just fill it out there, it was so short. I finished in fifteen minutes and pulled a copy of my résumé out of my backpack.

"Excellent!" Mrs. Whitehorse chirped when I handed the papers back over to her. "Oh! And résumé too. Well aren't we a professional woman now?"

"Well, I just wanted to make sure my acquired skills are known," I smiled. "Don't want all that school to go to waste."

She smiled back insisting that she would give Albert the application when he returned from lunch. "I would expect," she leaned forward to whisper to me, "to hear from him in a few days. I think he'd really enjoy having you on staff."

I stood up straight. "Thank you for all your help, Mrs. Whitehorse. My best to Ralphie."

* * *

The pure adrenaline I got from the prospect of actually being gainfully and purposefully employed actually made my hands twitchy as I drove home. Before I made it back to the mainland, I pulled over on the side of the road. It was a nice day out and I wasn't ready to go back home yet.

I was sitting on a rock on the small beach head that formed along side the road when three conspicuously half-naked boys came out of the woods. One laughing and another pushing him. From this distance I couldn't tell who they were. I knew they were pack. I kept my eyes up front, watching the sea, pretending not to notice. Because that plan was fool proof. The suddenly halted steps gave me a clue as to at least one of the boy's identities. Paul was clearly not prepared or not ready to see me. The breeze carried their voices my way and I could catch snatches of their words.

"Dude, just go talk to her." That was definitely Quil. He was the only one I knew who said 'dude' with any kind of frequency.

"Don't count on it; he wouldn't even know what to do with himself." Jared: the ever optimistic diaper days best friend.

"Why don't you all stop talking about me over there and come join," I shouted for them hear. I glanced down the beach and saw the three of them just standing there. Paul was kind of hunched and not quite happy looking. Jared stood next to him with his arms crossed. I'm pretty sure he was laughing. I couldn't see Quil's face; his back was to me as he spoke animatedly with Paul.

I stood up and made my way slowly towards them. Wrapping my arms around myself to keep the cold out. I stopped about a dozen feet away. Jared made his way over while Quil continued to talk to Paul. "Hi, Rach," he sang.

"Hello Jared," I replied flatly. "What's going on?" I signaled over his shoulder.

"Oh nothing. Just trying to get Paul's bitch ass to talk to you and apologize for whatever the hell it was he did."

"Shut the fuck up!" Paul shouted over Quil's shoulder.

"If you don't mind," Jared half turned, "I'm having a conversation with the lady, since you can't bring yourself to do it." Paul growled in rebuttal as Jared turned back to me.

"He hasn't said anything to you guys yet? You haven't _heard_ anything?" He caught my implication about the pack telepathy and shook his head.

"He must've done fucked up real good. Hasn't said or shown us a thing."

"Wow," I did find that remarkable. A lot of this stuff I couldn't keep off my mind; I don't know how Paul managed.

"Believe me, we've tried. But nada. You care to enlighten us, Rachel?"

I shook my head, "Not really."

"Is this personal?" Jared asked crossing his arms. His expression shifted, like he might've been trying a new train of thought with this.

"Well, yeah," I offered. "It is about our relationship. Duh?"

"No, I mean like _personal._" Jared amended. With emphasis. "Is he bad lay? You can just tell us, you know."

I didn't even have time to let my jaw drop before a thunderous boom echoed across the beach.

"WHAT?" the tenor of Paul's growl made my brain shake around inside my head like bass from metal concert.

"Whoa!" Quil was now physically holding him back – and struggling with the task – as Paul lunged at his best friend shaking from head to toe. I took an instinctual step back as my hand reached up to clap over my mouth. I was in outright shock. I had never seen Paul so purely angry before. Jared was just being a jerk – as per usual – but I had never seen him get such a rise out of Paul.

The guy I knew wasn't there. He wasn't in those flaring eyes, those bared teeth or the twitching jaw muscles. His face had shifted into something I'd never seen before. I'd seen My Paul, I'd seen Sam's Paul, stoic-Paul, mad Paul and sad Paul. I had never seen this Paul. The man I knew was gone, replaced by someone else. Someone bloodthirsty. It scared me. A lot.

"Hey!" Jared turned around fully this time as I took another step back, unable to control the knots in my stomach. "I'm just trying to find out if you can't keep your woman happy, all right? You won't tell us anything; I got nothing to go on here!"

And with that, Paul finally broke loose of Quil's grip, causing him to tumble forward into the sand. He took two steps before leaping and in a split half of a fucking second he wasn't human anymore. In mid-air he turned into raging, snarling feral animal as the his body expanded and silver fur flew out from his every pore – sending his clothes flying like balloon fragments around us. Jared all but popped into his own wolf, brown fur bristling, haunches raised, before Paul even hit the ground.

I took another step back as I screamed. I stumbled once, catching myself on the boulder I had backed into. Quill came running around the fray as I watched Jared and Paul tear and snarl and rip each other apart. "Come on," he insisted taking me by the arm. "Let's get you home."

I didn't protest. I let Quil lead me carefully back to my care before he all but put me in the passenger seat himself. The whole ride home I sat with my back against the door and my legs pulled up on the bench seat. The vibrations of the engine numbing me slowly. "Quil…" I asked in a quiet daze. "Yeah?" he asked as he drove with one hand.

I couldn't remember what I was going to say as I stared off, wide eyed into the nothingness. "They'll be all right, Rachel. It's nothing new. Paul's got a temper and Jared gets a high from stoking people's coals. Especially his."

I had never seen this before. I had heard about it. I had heard about it a lot. But I had never been party to an uncontrolled, rage-induced shift of Paul's. It was something he had never wanted me to see, and now I knew why. I was blinded by my own shock I couldn't even think straight. All I wanted to do was cry or run away or jump out of this damn car.

I was so scared and even Quil – who I've known since he was little kid – put me on edge. Paul had never scared me before. He worried me, concerned me. Sometimes he made me nervous or anxious, but I had _never_ been afraid of him. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I hadn't realized the car had stopped until there was a tap on my window. I moved aside so Quil could open the door without me falling out. "Hey, Rach, come on?" He reached up and with the sleeve of his shirt wiped across my cheeks. I hadn't realized the silent tears I'd been crying. "You're all right? Do I need to tell Jake about this?"

"No," I stuttered out. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just shell-shocked is all." I leaned forward and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for taking me home." He smiled, returned my keys and trotted off towards the trees as I made my way inside.

I dumped the keys on the counter, made for my room without being seen by Jake or Dad. "I'm getting in the shower," I announced before I grabbed a clean pair of jeans a new top and slammed the bathroom door. I turned the shower on, sat on the covered toilet and listened as the water against the metal tub drowned out my sobbing.


	16. Chapter 16

Dad and Jake noticed I was off about 37 second after I came out of the bathroom. I insisted it was this nagging cold of mine. This wasn't entirely false. After my near heart-attack inducing beach trip, I had felt the full force of my riotous stomach and pounding head make its presence known once more.

I lay curled up in my bed, trying to keep my toes warm and willing my body to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. My muscle tension could've deflected bullets. I watched the sun rise and set and it was a new day – a Saturday – when I reached out from beneath the pile of blankets on my bed and fumbled around for my phone. Clearly, I needed to talk to someone about this. As I flipped my phone open, I paused. My first instinct was to call Leah.

She was my best friend in this town and we told each other almost everything. Almost. There was still stuff about Sam I know she never told me; and things she overheard accidentally within the pack wasn't always my business. I didn't hold it against her. I knew it was a job hazard and I was never unwilling to listen, so I knew if she ever needed a discreet ear, without a shared mind, I was here. It was becoming easier again between us as she got acclimated to pack life.

The pack was the very thing that paused my thumb over my phone's picture of her sitting on Seth's chest as she tackled him. She was pack. And while I knew that the stuff they mentally shared was kept between them and acknowledged for what it was – unavoidable – I was worried. I didn't know if Paul had told Sam, let alone anyone else besides Quil or Jared about what had happened. I knew he wouldn't want to, but that it could easily slip into his thoughts when he was shifted.

But if he was making every attempt to keep it away from his brothers I would feel terrible if Leah accidentally let it slip without knowing. I wouldn't want to make her feel bad or Paul feel worse. Not to mention, I'm know Jake and definitely Sam would lay into him for it. It had the potential for chaos. For the first time in my life, I couldn't call my best friend. I could have, but that would have put her in a difficult place and I didn't want that for her. She had a hard enough time.

Instead, I scrolled back up until I hit a more unlikely yet somehow intuitive contact. I didn't know about this idea either. It definitely would have been separate from the pack but I was also certain that my bringing this up could be beyond mean.

Might as well test the waters. I pressed the green "Call" button.

"Hello," came the quiet yet chipper greeting.

"Emily?" I whined. Unintentionally. I really didn't mean to start the conversation out like a five-year old.

"Rachel," she wasn't questioning it, in fact, she sounded almost expectant.

"Could we talk?" I asked.

"I was wondering when you'd call," she said with a small sigh.

I sat up with that one. "You know?" I asked. Maybe news did travel fast.

"I do," she said calmly. "I figured it out…"

"How did you—"

"He looks just like Sam did. Acting the same way. Can't decide if he's angry or skittish, but definitely always in a pit of spiraling depression. I called his name earlier and he almost cried. I figured it out."

"Wow…" I could think of nothing else intelligent to say.

"So, my place or yours?"

"Uh…" the brain vacuum continued.

"Well," she cut off what was sure to be my informative response, "I'm alone at my place. I don't expect anyone back for at least a few hours. If that helps your decision at all."

I could just hear the dulcet tones of my father and brother attempting to make food through the thin walls of my house before I directed my attention back to the phone's receiver.

"I'll be over in ten minutes."

* * *

"Rachel you look terrible," Emily cried as she opened the door and still pulled me into a full-body hug.

"Really?" I asked. "I was only aiming for 'horrible' as I got dressed. Do you think I over did it?"

"Very funny," she remarked as she steered me towards the kitchen table. I didn't give her much cause to think I was well, in all reality. My hair was still wet from my shower and simply piled into a knot on top of my head. My skin was admittedly paler than it's normal darker hue, my eyes were bloodshot from crying and illness, and I was wearing various layers of mine and Jake's clothes. I didn't discriminate as I cut an efficient path from my room to the front door on my way to the truck. That didn't even cover how I was feeling. Emotionally or physically. I was a mess.

I pulled my woolen covered feet up to sit cross legged at the table and tugged the hood of Jake's sweatshirt off as Emily bustled about. "Take these," she told me as she laid some pills on the table before me with a glass of orange juice.

"What are they?" I inquired as I popped them in my mouth. I had faith in Emily enough to help me, not to kill me. But I was still curious.

"Echinacea, Zinc, a Tylenol," she clarified as she dug around in her fridge. "It'll help whatever virus you've clearly got. Something's been going around. Claire had it all last week."

"Claire?" I asked. I hadn't heard that name before. And I knew everyone on the res.

"Oh…" she said standing up with a Tupperware container in her hands. Her reaction made it seem she'd said something she didn't intend for me to hear.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I didn't want to make one of my only allies feel uncomfortable. "I get it. There's a bug going around."

"No, no," she waved dismissively as she put some of the container's contents into the microwave. "Claire's my niece. My sister and her came down from the Makah res to visit."

"Oh," I muttered. That was anticlimactic. Not that I cared either way, but why would Emily feel weird about telling me about her niece?

"She got to meet some of the pack," she laughed in a way that might've indicated irony. I was getting lost again. She pulled the bowl of what I now realized was soup from the microwave and joined me at the table. I just sort of stared at her quizzically. "Eat and I'll explain," she agreed. "The guys love kids. It's kind of a natural inclination. But…" she trailed off here as she stared down at the wood grain of the table top. I didn't push it, and just slowly sipped my soup – which was pretty damn fantastic, can I just say? "Quil has really taken to her," she finally muttered quietly.

"Really?" I chuckled after a swallow. "Quil Ateara? The Rico Suave of QTS tenth grade?" It was well known around the reservation that Quil had been a bit of talker since he learned to talk. He was like that way with everyone, but once he and Jake and Embry got to junior high, he turned the charm on the ladies. It was always good-natured, and down right comical as he was rejected half the time. "I don't see him being big on kids, no offense."

"No," Emily looked up to meet my eyes finally. "Quil has really _taken _to her," she said significantly.

I choked on the noodle I had half swallowed when she spoke. "He… He… He— He did? Quil? Little Quil?" I indicated his small pre-pack height with my hand.

Emily just nodded.

"Oh my god," I leaned back in my chair allowing my spoon to rest in my uneaten soup. "Another one bites the dust, huh?"

"She's two, Rachel."

My eyes almost popped out of my head. When she said 'kid', I thought she might've meant thirteen or fourteen. "TWO?" I shouted. "That's sick!" Quil, the boy who had just driven me home a few hours ago, was eternally bonded to _a toddler?_

Emily read the expression clear enough on my face. "I know," she cried, laying her face down on her crossed arms. I was shocked by the gesture. Emily was always so maternal and put together. We were the same age, but she always seemed so much older than me. The way she handled herself and situations with such tact and a cool head, belied her young age. As she lay her head on her arms and pouted from the kitchen table, I got glimpse of the real Emily.

I was always one to lay my problems out before people, but Emily – almost like Sam – took everything in stride and didn't let much show. Until now. It surprised me, but I didn't find it uncomfortable. I'm glad Emily had enough faith in me to reciprocate.

"How's your sister taking it?" I asked in a dull haze.

She only shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

"Well if she hasn't left the state yet, I'd say that's pretty well. She's got a hormonal boy after her daughter."

"I guess it's not like that yet," Emily said quietly as she picked her head back up. "Sam says, at least from what he can tell," she tapped her temple and I understood her meaning, "Quil just wants to protect her. To play games with her and take to her the park. Just silly fun things like that. It's not romantic love."

"Like a brother?" I asked. She nodded slightly. "Speaking of Sam…" I continued, "does your sister know?"

"Yeah," she nodded slightly again, her shoulders hunched around her. "She knows Claire's not the first. She knows about me – and it certainly helps her understand especially considering she knew Leah so well, too. She knows of you and Kim, too."

I nodded, trying to process the idea of Quil imprinting on two year-old. So many things spun through my mind. If it's not romantic now, will it ever be? When? When she's and adult? Does Claire even get a choice? What is Quil supposed to do with his life until she is an adult?

I was broken out of my thoughts by Emily's sigh. "She doesn't know about _this_, though." I was taken aback by the easy and blunt way she referenced her own marred face. "She doesn't know it was Sam. She still thinks it was a bear. If she ever knew… I couldn't do that to Quil," she shook her head. "I mean, Sam was new. Really, really new. And Quil is such a different person; so much more easy going and laid back. I know he's still really new to pack life but I don't see him doing anything like that just because that's not him, he doesn't get worked up like that and—"

"Emily!" I finally sat up and interrupted her rant. "It's okay. _Breathe."_ With that she took a deep breath and her shoulders visibly lowered. "Quil's actually lucky. He's had so many guys go before him that he doesn't have to pave his own way. And if he's infatuated with this little girl, I doubt something like _that_ will ever happen."

"It happened to you," she replied.

That it did.

"Yeah," I nodded. "It did. Paul's also different," I added as I slouched back in the chair once again.

"How'd it happen?" Emily sat up right, not nearly as forlorn as moments ago and busied herself with tying her hair back as I tried to craft my response.

"It was me and Quil and Jared" – "Surprise, surprise," Emily had muttered under her breath – "and Paul. Jared just really got under his skin. Which I've seen before but I've never seen him lose control."

"It's terrifying," she agreed. "I hadn't even wanted to spend time with Sam. He had just broken his relationship off with Leah and was following me around – forgive the pun – like a puppy. I didn't know about the pack or anything that comes along with that at the time. He just wanted so desperately to spend time with me. I finally caved and agreed. But one day, after a particularly long talk with myself, I decided to cut it off. I didn't think any of it was worth the stress it put on Leah and I's relationship. When I told Sam I never wanted see him again – okay, I screamed it at him – he lost it."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"How did you… I mean, now everything seems…"

"Fine? It is. I was in the hospital for a week and after that he sat outside my front door in tears the whole time. Would you believe me if I told you _I_was the one that ended up comforting _him?_ Truth be told, I was scared. I really thought he was going to do something to hurt himself and as confused as I was I didn't want him doing something like that. The pure sadness and just… absolute self-loathing that emanated off him was unbearable. Somewhere in there it just sort of clicked for me."

"What do you mean, 'it clicked'?"

"I obviously _knew_ something was up with Sam when he exploded into a giant ball of fur in my living room. Granted, I don't remember much. I just remember a wolf before it all goes black. But I knew there had to be more to it. Then came the imprinting explanation."

"Sam told you?" I asked trying to clarify.

"No," she shook her head. "He wasn't quite there yet. Old Quil told me the Quileute legends, recounted the relevant ones for me – starting with the spirit warriors. Obviously, I could now tell that those were true, so when got to the part about imprinting…"

"It clicked," I nodded, finally understanding.

"Yep. See the thing is, I'm Makah, I'm not Quileute so I didn't have any background information at all."

"And you were first _and _you were new to La Push," I continued, realizing how much reality must've bitch-slapped Emily in the face only weeks after she got here. "And I thought I had it rough."

"You did take far better than I did," she nodded with a small smile. After a quite moment she cocked her head and looked at me, as if she was looking into me. "You took so quickly to him. Even that night, I remember, you sidled right up to him. I know you must've known him from childhood, but it was remarkable…"

I offered her a small smile, remembering the night that all had been revealed to me. I had been sick and dizzy and overwrought and it all seemed too much. In my haze of hysteria, I had somehow (maybe subconsciously) decided that I was okay with this genetic bond I had with Paul. I had accepted that he would play a role in my life – heck, he was the one who told me all about the wolves; at the _very least_ we would've always had that encounter.

"I remember," I nodded in affirmation. "I was a mess… but even then," I shrugged for lack of words. "It just felt right, y'know. Even though I hadn't really got to know him that well, he just made me feel safe. Calm."

"Exactly," Emily nodded. "And nothing will change that. The time prior I had spent with Sam, I tried so hard to hate him – for Leah's sake and on pure female principle – but I found it so hard because being around him just made me so happy. That soul-tie that you have, that'll never go away. Sometimes, it just hides behind the chaos."

"I don't know, Emily," I shook my head, pulling my bowl of soup close once again. "After today—I mean, look at me, I still have the shakes! I don't know if or how I'll be able to _deal_ with seeing him again, you know. And the sick thing is I do still love him. I don't know how to fix this."

"Hon," she laid a sympathetic hand on my forearm. "There's nothing for you to fix, Rachel. This is all him. You can't help him with this. His brothers can. I can tell you Jared has felt terrible and has been trying to mend his soul since yesterday. You'll have two pack boys begging for forgiveness, I wouldn't doubt."

"But how do I _not_ be scared?" I asked pathetically.

"_That_," Emily said pointedly, "is something you will have to figure out on your own. If it's right. It will come natural. You can't force it. You just have realize it's a job hazard and certain dangers follow every human being around. We're lucky because we'll never be victims of domestic abuse or drunk partners or loveless relationships or anything like that. Our hazard is a boy's quick temper. It gets better with time and both you and he will learn to combat it; you'll learn his tics and his cues. You really were lucky this time. Nothing worth having ever comes easy."


	17. Chapter 17

I really didn't want to go to the bonfire tonight. Last night it had rained so hard it was actually cancelled. Ergo, I had the joy of moaning over my total lack of desire to go, _again. _My reason were many and varied. I didn't want to go for fear of seeing Paul. Or even Jared or Quil for that matter. But I knew I couldn't worm my way out of it without arising even more suspicion from Jake or my dad. Plus, I knew Dad wanted me to get out, he thought I was losing it. I felt bad nagging my way out of it.

In the end I sucked it up, pulled on some old boots and brown leather jacket over my white t-shirt and sat between my brother and my dad as Jake drove us over to First Beach.

I could do this, I told myself over and over. The entire five minute ride over was comprised of my inner pep talk as I braided my long hair into one long plait – a nervous habit. When we arrived Jake hopped out and helped Dad with his chair. From there he made his own way to the beach. As I made to slide out of the cab I was met by my brother the human road block. A hand braced on each side of the doorway, he examined me. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked.

"No," I replied quietly.

"You sure?" he asked significantly as he indicated the braid that rested over my shoulder.

"When did you become the big sibling?" I asked tiredly. Since I'd learned about the pack, it seemed like Jake didn't just look older than me, but acted older than me. Well, at least in the sense that I – for the first time – felt like I had a big brother. Not a younger one. He was also a lot more observant. Or maybe he always was, and I was only now giving him credit for it.

"Since I realized there's a heck of a lot out there to break my big sister apart."

"I'm fine Jake," I insisted. "Just sick." I slid out of the cab and beneath his arm, turning around once to smile in his direction, just for good measure.

Tonight's fire was pretty low key. As if most of them weren't. But it wasn't a council related thing. No real hoopla. It was mostly just locals. La Push folks and the pack. _Joy_. I had made an obvious show of eating something, in order to calm Jake and Dad before talking with Leah for a while. She could tell something was up, but didn't push it. I told her I'd tell her about it later. You know, when we weren't surrounded by people. She agreed to that. I think she probably knew what was up.

It was a nice night out and I decided to slip off my boots and enjoy the sand beneath my feet. I was moseying my way down to the where the tide was ebbing, when I felt a hot arm loop around my shoulders. "You know, if you stay this perky, I just might have to get you sedated. I can't stand all the unbridled enthusiasm, Rach."

"I told you Jake. I'm sick," I repeated my lie as I turned from the tide and began down the beach, taking him along with me.

"It's more than that," he replied. So many years later and this kid picked up on more than I thought he ever did.

I just shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it's just compounded BS, you know? It's been a long week. The battle, Paul, my being sick, _you_ being hurt. All of it. Just stress." In an effort to not wander too far from the group I plopped down unceremoniously in the sand.

Jake just stood there and examined me again, his head cocked to one side. "Stressed?"

"And sick," I sniffed for effect.

"I don't think it's that kind of sick," he mumbled.

My head snapped up and I was about to retort when he began to back away. He glanced down the beach from where we came, someone else was about to join us. "I'll talk to you later," and with that he turned and went. I lacked the motivation to get up and return to the group.

I didn't need the light of daytime to guess who was coming down the beach. I closed my eyes and sat up straight, willing myself to relax. There was no need to be scared. There was no need to be scared. I heard the quiet footsteps approach and I opened my eyes slightly to see Paul crouched across from me, albeit about five feet away, with his head in his hands.

There was no need to be scared.

"Rachel," he croaked out. His voice was hoarse and it sounded unhealthy. "Hon…" He still wouldn't look at me as his hands tugged at his hair. I couldn't even bring myself to move and help him like I normally would have. Every time I blinked, all I could see was that huge vicious dog behind my eyelids and on the sand in front of me and it made my throat close up with anxiety, fear and tension. Sure, I'd seen shifted Paul before, but never like that...

There was no need to be scared.

"I am so, so, _so_ sorry. I don't even… I don't even know what to say or do to show you that I'm not dangerous." He moved himself slightly closer to me. I kept my place. I was focused entirely on maintaining a normal breathing pattern. My hands dug into the sand beside me, searching desperately for something to grip onto.

There was no need to be scared.

He rubbed his hands over his face and finally looked up. His eyes were no longer held that animalistic glow, they were only manic. The feral, rabid, vicious face was gone, he just looked more forlorn – more sad – than I'd ever seen him before. The creases through his forehead and around his eyes were deeper and more pronounced than I ever remember seeing them. He looked older, much older.

There was no need to be scared.

"Shit… I _am_ dangerous, Rachel. I have no self-control. Whatsoever. You don't see me around the guys too much but it happens. I can't even help it. It's like the monster inside just takes control. That's why I never wanted you to see…"

He paused for a moment and moved closer now sitting directly across from me. My heart skipped a small beat, having him so close to me. I blinked a few times, refusing to allow my brain to see the silvery fur, the bared teeth, the lupine gait.

There was no need to be scared.

"I _am_ dangerous," he repeated. "But I will _never_ hurt you, Rachel." He reached down ghosted his hand over mine, never actually touching me despite being so close. "I would sooner jump off a damn cliff."

I was beginning to feel my heart pound against the wall of my chest. I still couldn't bring myself to hold his gaze. I was trying desperately to keep the tears in my eyes and off my face.

There was no need to be scared.

He seemed at least not disheartened by my allowing him to be so close to me. "Please, Rachel. I need… I need something to go on, here… If you want me to, I'll leave… I'll just… I'll go." The tears began to flow freely down my face now; no sobbing, just tears. Lots of tears.

He shifted one leg to the side so he sat astride my legs in the sand. Moving slowly, he reached up as if to take a hold of my face, but stopped himself. He was so close I could feel his ambient heat just rolling off his skin in waves.

I leaned forward, pressing my face into his warm hands. My eyes sealed shut and I gasped at the warmth – remembering the vestiges of calm it used to bring me – and the strain of terror and adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

Hands. Not claws. Not paws. Hands. I was perfectly safe.

There was no need to be scared.

I leaned forward slightly, closing the gap between us, now only inches apart. "I'm not scared," I whispered quietly, desperately willing myself to believe it. I did believe it. I had to. I let my other hand reach up carefully to find his neck, pulling myself closer I inhaled a shaky breath. He was here and fully man, nothing to be afraid of. I shook my head, my lips and nose grazing his. I could feel him breathing slow and shallow. "I'm not scared," I repeated.

"Prove it," he muttered back. Clearly, he knew me too well. Knew I would talk a big game, but showing it was another thing.

I dipped forward placing my lips over his. I was terrified. In this moment, I was terrified. For once, I fully realized the human in me and the animal in Paul. How easily he could hurt me. It was in his power to kill me before I even had a chance to defend myself. This knowledge sent the tears tumbling further down and I pulled back for a moment as a small sob escaped my throat.

It was always in the realm of physical possibility, but I knew it would never happen. I knew Paul had control issues. But he never scared me before this; I shouldn't be scared of him now. I was scared of the idea. Just because I witnessed the more unbecoming part of his nature that had always been, should that have changed everything?

I wound my arms around his neck fully. "I love you," I told him. "I do."

At that, I watched his face crumble. "Oh god," he sighed. Now reaching with more haste, one of his hands found the back of my head, tangled in my hair while the other held firmly onto my side. He was aggressive and needy and a little reckless: the Paul I knew. Not the hesitant, unsure one I had just seen moments ago. And I thought his old ways might startle me, but it was more reassuring than his reluctance, by far.

He was breathing heavy and uneven as I sunk further into the sand beneath my back. His warm, rough lips were erratic and quick. I opened my mouth and breathed in his scent, willing him to calm down. I heard him moan, enjoying the sensation as his frantic pace began to calm. I moved my lips from his, down his chin and neck, enjoying his cedar and salt smell. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not scared," I breathed as I came back closer to his ear.

After a moment, he lowered his head burrowing his nose into the crook of my neck. I could feel the warmth of his breath across my collarbone as he lay almost on top of me. He still supported most of his own weight so as not to crush me. He was just leaned forward from his former sitting position.

I began to play with the fringe of his hair on the back of his neck as his breathing regulated and he drew patterns on my arm lying in the sand.

"This doesn't change anything yet," I told him quietly after a few minutes.

"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding confused.

"No. I'm not scared of you," I reassured. "But I'm still pretty pissed. About before…"

"Ah," he replied in acknowledgment. "Well in that case…" at this point he lifted himself onto his forearms gave me a teasing peck on the lips. "I gotta go figure out how to win you back."

With that he stood, brushed his shorts off, smiled, turned and left me laying there in the sand wondering what the hell just happened.


	18. Chapter 18

My dad chose 7AM this morning to knock on my door. "Rachel?" I had no idea when he even returned from the council bonfire last night. Granted I crawled into bed around nine, so it might not have even been that late. He'd come in and out at various points of the past week, feeling bad about leaving his two children – freshly beat up by leeches – all alone. But we knew he was meeting and talking about The Situation - as Jake and I referred to it - so we just assured him we'd all be okay.

"Come in…" I rasped out as I felt around the stitches Dr. Fang had checked out recently, before pulling my hair up into a knot.

My door popped open and my dad stopped dead not three feet into my room. "Rachel…" he asked slowly, trying to phrase his question – I'm sure – in a manner that would not make me flip out. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Nooo," I moaned leaning forward over my lap. "I feel like crap…"

I heard him come closer and stop at the side of my bed. "C'mere…" I sat up and Dad placed a warm hand on my forehead. "You actually feel a little chilly."

"It's freezing in here," I sniffed.

"It's almost seventy degrees out, Rach. I think someone is sick."

"I'm not sick," I protested, even as I felt a pressure headache beginning behind my eyes. Plus I _had_ been using that as my excuse for odd behavior yesterday. "I'm as strong as an ox…"

"Okay, well the oxen need to take a day off today. I know I can't tell what you kids are up to while I'm at council, but I'll assume you haven't been listening to me when I told you to take it easy."

"Dad, I'm twenty-three…"

"But when you're under my roof, I'm the head honcho. Now I need you to set a decent example for your brother because I've got enough forces acting against me with that boy. Can I get your word that at least for today you'll _relax?"_

"Fiiine," I whined. "I'll hang out and do nothing today. I swear."

"Thank you. I feel bad enough as it is leaving you two here–"

"We're fine, Dad," I intoned. "We can feed ourselves and use the phone and Jake even has potty training down."

"Ah, you're my daughter all right," he sighed as he began to turn. "Stay in bed. If you need me for anything, call. Otherwise, I know Leah's home as well as Mrs. Call. Don't be afraid to call them."

"Mhm…" I muttered and rolled over as he left. I was so sure that Embry's mom would be willing to come help either Jake or I. Not that she was a mean or bad woman, but she was fairly well convinced that Embry had joined a gang and Jake and Quil and all the other pack boys were a part of it. Because she didn't know about the pack. Of course, it was just shape shifter nonsense, but she'd brought 'the issue' before Tribal Council more than a few times and Dad and Sue and Old Quil had to just shrug her off. I'm pretty sure if we called her for help, she'd shove us off a cliff. He must've been desperate.

But whatever.

I plopped back down and passed out until one that afternoon. I was awakened by my own pounding head. I was freezing, I couldn't breathe through my nose, my whole body ached and my head was throbbing and spinning all at the same time. I was really at my prime as I huddled beneath my covers and placed my head between my upturned knees, trying to keep the horizons where they belonged.

And because it wasn't bad enough, there was then a knocking on my front door. I figured that my brother was still passed out on last evening's pain meds and I had zero desire to move, so I shouted from my spot. "Who is it!"

"Take a fucking guess!" was the reply.

_Awesome_.

"Go away!"

Instead of continuing our intelligent screaming match from the other side of the front door and across the house, Paul let himself in. Because it's not like we lock our doors in La Push. Something I was seriously starting to consider. _Like it would stop him_, my subconscious argued. "Get out of my house!"

I was still pissed at him. Not only for halfway making me choose him or my brother, but for being so damn angry after the fact. I felt bad about what I happened, really I did, but where the hell did he get off? _Not to mention_, he came to me last night a pile of self-deprecating worry, he kissed me like there was no tomorrow and just _left._

I heard him walking across the living room and down the hall, all the while I kept getting more and more angry. I didn't need this right now. I really didn't. I was torn between ripping the covers off and beating the crap out of him and simply curling into a tighter ball as he stepped into my room. I started reaching around for something heavy to throw at him.

"Rachel, would you _please_ just talk to me?" The boy was almost hysterical. "I can't even see straight!"

"Paul! I cannot do this right now!" I had to pause here for a sneeze. "I am not coming out of this blanket cocoon for at least another 48 hours."

In retrospect, I suppose Paul was partially upset about our prior issues. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure some part of his genetic makeup was becoming attuned to the fact that my system was in a steady tailspin. I look back at the track of his attempts to contact me and they get more frequent and closer together the worse my sickness had gotten over this past week.

And never mind sensing my illnesses from across town, he could tell – without even seeing or properly hearing me beneath my blanket cave – that something was totally and completely awry.

That is imprinting.

And because the world is the most passive aggressive bitch I know, the entire argument we were about to have dissolved. I felt the edge of my bed sag. In an instant the corner of my comforter was tossed open and I was exposed to the dull light and frigid air of the outside world. I clamped my legs closer to my chest and shivered convulsively as Paul slipped under my covers and through that narrow gap.

For a moment I just watched him as he sat in my little heat bubble with me. He was clearly upset. His face was all distorted and his eyes were wide. He looked really tense and I felt bad.

"Are you all right? Why are you sick? What can I do?"

"Paul!" I shouted through my slowly deteriorating voice. "Breathe… I'm fine. I'm just sick. It's a cold or the flu or something. I'm just dizzy and cold and can't breathe."

"Well, I can't help the vertigo but you know I operate at a temperate 108 degrees," he offered.

"No way. I am not coming any closer. I look like total crap. And you're a damn jerk!"

"Rachel, I would feel a lot better if you just came over here. There are plenty of other things we can argue about, okay?"

I could already feel it getting warmer under my comforter since he'd joined me. And truth be told: I also had no self-control. Except I didn't explode into massive dog shapes when that became a problem.

"Fine," I grumbled. I couldn't really deny the comfort of Paul's natural warmth. I moved myself forward and collapsed rather ungracefully into his lap. My body was still terribly tense, but as his arms wrapped slowly around my waist I couldn't help but relax into his shoulder. For a few minutes I just sat there, enjoying the comfort it brought me.

I tried to remind myself to stay mad, that it was only his heat that made me feel better. Not the fact that he'd completely switched gears the moment he sensed I was sick. Not the feeling of his arms strong and gentle and around my stomach. Or his even breathing down the side of my neck as I fell into rhythm with his natural rocking tendency. None of that was important. I was still mad. Right?

I couldn't even stick by my guns with this guy. He just turned me to a pile of Jello. See? No self-control.

"Stop," I whined. His arms came away from my waist immediately and he froze as if he'd burnt me.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm _supposed_ to be mad at you," I insisted as I contradicted myself by burrowing further into his chest.

"Oh," he laughed once. "So that's what this is about?"

"Yeah," I groused.

"Well, you can wail on me later, okay?"

"Deal."

* * *

I never actually fell asleep, though Paul swears I did. I just sort of drifted into that state of total relaxation. I was on the very cusp of sleep: my eyes were closed, my breathing shallow and even – but I just couldn't ruin the moment by sleeping through it. Even though I probably could've used it.

I'm not sure how long I just sat there in his lap, eventually though I came back to coherency. I begrudgingly turned myself around so I could face him. I was in a much better frame of mind compared to when he arrived and we really needed to address the pink elephant in the room. Because it was starting to do cartwheels.

The fact that I could barely see him through the darkness under my comforter was kind of nice.

"So," I began, resting my forehead on his shoulder. "I think we need to talk."

"I'm sorry, Rach."

That was not what I was expecting.

"Excuse me?" I asked, picking my head up to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he was having a hard time verbalizing whatever he was thinking. I later found out that this was mostly because Paul didn't regularly apologize for things. It just wasn't what he did. He wasn't used to it at all.

"I didn't mean to make you upset. I didn't want to make you choose between me or your brother – that's not what I meant. I was worried Rachel. I was almost fucking sick with it. I just don't want anything to happen to you _ever_, okay? I realize that's totally unrealistic, but just know that I can't really change it. It's natural."

I chewed my lower lip as I thought over what he'd just said. I was glad that he realized what set me off. I was also glad that he hadn't intentionally given me an ultimatum. However he was graciously avoiding the crux of our confrontation. That one thing that had cut through our argument like a flaming arrow.

I had given him a clear demand.

I had _made_ him do something. He couldn't disobey me like a regular boyfriend, because he was pre-programmed to do whatever I desired. It didn't help that Paul personally hated being told what to do. He didn't like others having power over him. I can't say as I blame him; I feel the same way. The only difference is that I'm fully capable of ignoring people.

"Wow… you make me feel like crap…" I admitted, pressing my cold fingers to his chest to warm them.

"What? C'mon… I'm trying to make it better."

"I know," I nodded. "But I made you listen to me. I told you…"

His whole upper body moved with his following sigh. "I won't lie, Rach: I hate being told to do shit, you know that. But… you have me. I'll probably do anything you want from now until the end of time – and love every minute of it. It was just… it was just a worlds collide sort of scenario. I'm so used to just knowing what you want, that you don't need to tell me. So once my brain got clouded to the point where I couldn't _sense_ that anymore and you had to tell me? I just… I didn't think you'd ever have to be so blunt and forceful with me. I thought I'd just be able to figure it out before it ever came to that."

"Do you realize how irrational it is to expect to be able to read my mind?" I asked him. "Even for you and I, I'm sure they're going to be things that will need to be explicitly stated. We're not telepathic, just instinctual."

"I know, I know..." he replied. "It's stupid. Don't judge, Rach... don't judge."

"That's what I'm here for, babe. Now, I gotta get up. I got shit to do today."

"But it's so spacious and luxurious in this blanket fort you've created," he mocked.

"I was cold," I pouted, pressing my still chilled nose into his shoulder, making him flinch. _"Don't judge, Paul. Don't judge."_

"So," he continued, ignoring my jibe and began slowly extricating us from my comforter. As long as he was in range, I wasn't too cold. I wasn't shy about how I more or less used Paul as a space heater. I loved and tolerated him, I got that privilege right? "What shit have you to do today?"

I let my legs dangle over the edge of my bed and swing idly as I watched Paul absently begin to pick up my room. He handed me a sweatshirt from the chair next to my desk and I tugged it over my head. "I have a job interview. At QNR."

"Really? I didn't know you'd applied," his sentenced trailed off, a bit forlorn as he realized we hadn't talked in a while. I decided to nip it in the bud and just continue in a casual explanation before he got too self-loathing.

"Yep. They're looking for a lab assistant and the fact that I might actually be able to wrangle a job relevant to my education is pretty sweet."

He turned back to me, a fist full of my clothes he'd picked up off the floor, and pause before opening my hamper. Then he got that forlorn look again.

I knew this one... It was the same conversation that my dad had had with me when I applied. Paul felt like he was keeping me on the res. Which, yes, he was. But I was glad to; it wasn't something I resented. I don't think the fast-paced urban setting of Seattle would've suited my low-key tendencies.

I rolled my eyes. "Stop it,"I said. "Am I going to be able to say anything to you today without your feeling bad about it? QNR would be a great job. It's local, it's what I want - environmental - and I get to stay near my dad." I knew if I mentioned Dad, he wouldn't feel like I was doing it just for him - which I wasn't - but his stupid boy head... Whatever! "It's small now, but they're definitely going to be experiencing some growth, since we live in a national park. I'll be able to move up... It'll be good."

I watched him proceed to my hamper and dump my clothes in. After that, he opened my closet door and started firing my shoes in. "Are you seriously cleaning my room?"

"Hey," he retorted as he shut the closet door. "It's like chaos in here. I'm a neat-nick. Ever hear the phrase 'cluttered space, cluttered mind'? It's totally true. Besides, you're sick - the least I can do is help you out. Maybe I'll find a stash of porn or your underwear drawer or something..."

My Paul was back. "No way!" I shouted as I crinkled my nose.

"No porn for you?" Paul feigned disappointment.

"Oh, tons. I was talking about the latter. What makes you think I wear underwear?"

He tried not to smile and just quirked an eyebrow at me. He stepped across my now clear floor and bent down. I extended my neck and met my lips with his own. Delicious. He tasted so warm and wonderful. He hummed in contentment as he pulled softly against my lower lip. Clearly the time apart hadn't been good to him. I wrapped my arms gently around his neck, letting the fingers of one hand play with the fringe of his hair, while the other rested beneath the collar of his shirt on his scorching flesh. I opened my mouth to mumble, "I'm gonna get you sick..."

"Doubt it," his warm breath coursed over my neck as he moved his lips to my jawline. "This body temperature will burn off Ebola." His hands moved from their spots - planted on each side of me on my bed - and covered my hips. His hands were so huge, he probably could've wrapped his hands entirely around my waist. I could feel the warmth radiating through my hips and across my belly, only vaguely disguising other warming sensations he caused. He reached his right thumb beneath the waistband of my sweatpants and hooked it into the side of my underwear.

I gasped, not really sure what he was doing. We'd drawn the boundaries pretty clearly. I wasn't ready to have sex with Paul. It's strange because I've known the guy for six months now. We've been a 'thing' for about three. Now, I'm not a complete prude, I've been with other guys before - totally willfully unbeknownst to Paul. But for some reason I just don't feel right about sleeping with him yet.

Sure, it should make sense that I should. He's mine forever; we love each other. If anything was closer to set in stone than this, I don't know what it is. And, despite my track record for commitment - I'm totally okay with that. But maybe it's for this reason that I can't bring myself to sleep with poor guy yet. It's important now. It's not just some fling - it really means something. Despite how corny that sounds, its true. And then the core of the issue? Mating. I am not there yet. And Paul may be biologically able to procreate but he is not ready for fatherhood.

And I won't lie when I say I'm a bit scared. For multiple reasons. Number one goes back to that mating business. What if the pack guys are virile enough to thwart birth control? It's not like we know that either way yet, but it's a total possibility. And I don't wish to start the experiments.

Second concern: pain. Paul is a big ass guy and despite his attempts to hide any sort of sexual reaction to me, I have borne witness to a few on occasion. And I'm scared. I don't think he's anything abnormal, but if he's proportionally the same size all over as every other guy - it's gonna hurt a lot. I'm sure he'll be a self-destructive mess after the occasion as well. It's just not a bridge I want to cross right now.

He's so attuned to me I don't even need to say anything but that doesn't mean I don't know he wants to jump my bones _all the time. _But I feel so bad. Like I'm holding out on him. He'd never make me feel guilty about it, he doesn't even mention it, but how much can a person take? That can't be fair to him.

I pulled my arms from around his neck and fisted them in the material of his t-shirt against his chest, willing him to not make me be bitch and say something. Just as I began to panic, he smiled against my skin. "I knew it. You do wear underwear." His teeth nipped at my collarbone. "Don't think for a minute I wouldn't have noticed that you _don't_ wear anything. I'm insulted." It was here that he paused for a moment. He leaned back a fraction of an inch and sniffed me. Yes, he _sniffed_ me. Just below my ear. "You have mono," he informed me matter-of-factly. "Now get that tight ass of yours in the shower or you're going to be late."


	19. Chapter 19

**I've lost track of the reviews I have responded to and the ones that I haven't. That's how long it's been. I apologize.**

* * *

"I got the job!" I skipped up the front steps, having grabbed the mail on the way in. Jake was in the kitchen – eating and disrobing – a tell-tale sign that it was his turn for patrol. Wolf-form burned through calories like '57 Cadillac burned through gasoline. That's why the boys ate all the time. And is such massive quantities.

"Really?" he asked through a mouth full of food. He swallowed. "That's great. Congratulations. Maybe now you can stop sitting in this house all the time harassing me and get yourself a life, huh?"

"Oh real cute, Jake," I replied as I slapped the mail on the counter and went to the fridge. "Don't tell me you ate all the leftovers because I don't have the cash for takeout or the will to cook tonight."

I pushed aside the cartons of yogurt, looking for something to call dinner, when Jake spoke. "What's this?" I glanced around only quickly and noticed he was going through the mail on the counter.

"The mail," I replied, turning back into the fridge and pulling out the last bit of macaroni and cheese my brother had managed to miss. "I don't know. I haven't been through any of it yet. Have we won a million dollars? Is the state finally realizing we mixed you up at birth? I knew you never looked anything like me."

I stood up and turned around. Normally Jake would've retorted now and I wondered if he was in the room or even still listening to me. I peeked up and saw that he was pacing around in the living room. He must've left the kitchen in a heartbeat because a piece of mail was still floating to the ground. I put the container of macaroni on the counter and walked towards the renegade letter.

I could hear Jake muttering a series of curses and just diatribing in general. He was starting to shake – that wolfy shaking – and I immediately bent down, grabbed the off-white cardstock and surveyed it quickly, noting that it felt rather fancy. An additional, more plain piece of paper slipped out but I let it fall.

_You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of_

_Isabella Marie Swan_

_and_

_Edward Anthony Cullen_

Shit. That's where I stopped reading. That's all I needed to know. I slapped the invitation down on the counter and ran around it, to my brother who now looked on the verge of a seizure. I stepped in front of him, knowing that he could lose it at any moment and hurt himself or me, but I was determined to at least get him out of the house. I took his hands as he continued shouting in anger and sadness and guided him towards the front door.

"Jake, listen to me," I pleaded. I could feel the blood rushing through his system and heating him even more than normal. "You need to calm down. You can't sort anything out if you don't calm down."

I couldn't bear to give him the 'it's okay,' 'everything's going to be okay' spiel. Because I knew it wasn't. Bella was getting married. To another man. The guy that left her for dead. And as much as I disliked her, she made my brother happy and now at the end, she'd chosen someone else. He'd come out on the bottom after giving his all. I couldn't blame him for losing it and I knew everything was not going to be okay. I couldn't lie to him.

I had got him down the front steps and into the yard, when he'd managed to grind out, "Get… back…" I took that as my cue and released his hands running back up the walk. I only made it to the porch before I heard that terrible sound like tearing flesh as he shifted – uncontrollably – into his wolf.

I honestly expected that he would be angry. I expected growling and snarling and barking. But I turned around and he was just laying there. Dejected. I could tell from his big wolfy face that he was beyond sadness. I felt my heart plummet into my stomach and knew there was nothing I could do.

"Jake?" I called out as I came back down the steps towards him. I crossed the lawn slowly. I crouched down and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. I opened my mouth to speak but he ruffled his fur, stood up paced down to the end of the yard, looked down the street and then ran into the woods. It wasn't a moment later that I heard a howling in the distance.

I sat there for a moment, thinking what to do. I felt a wetness on my face and realized I was crying. I wiped my face and stood up suddenly. I ran into the house and found my cell phone. I rifled through the phone numbers tacked to the fridge and in the basket next to the house phone. I couldn't find Sam's number anywhere. I finally resided to the next best thing.

"Emily?" I asked as she picked up. I tried to regulate the emotion in my voice but she noticed anyways.

"Rachel? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Is Sam there?" I wiped my nose and glanced out the window, hoping against hope that maybe Jake would come back.

"Sure, let me go get him. You're sure you're okay, though?"

"Yes. I'm all right."

I took a few deep breaths while Emily went to go get Sam. There was a rustle as the phone was passed and then Sam's even bass echoed across the line. "Rachel?" he seemed surprised to get a call from me. "What's wrong?"

"It's Jake, Sam. He's gone. I didn't know who else to call. I didn't know what to do. He just lost it."

"Whoa, Rachel, slow down. He lost it?," he repeated, knowing my meaning. "Are you all right."

"Yes! I'm fine!" I was getting tired of answering that question. "But he's gone, Sam. Gone. He was so upset. He just ran off."

"Okay, we're going to—" Sam was cut off at this point by a racket even I could hear Emily's house.

"Sam!" called the voice. "It's Jake! He's flipping the fuck out! It's bad, man! You gotta get out here. Quil's trying to talk sense to him, but it's not looking good." It sounded like Embry. Or maybe Jared.

"All right, all right, I get it. I'm coming," he replied as his hand tried to muffle the receiver. "Rachel," his voice returned to its normal volume. "I'm sending one of the guys over. We're gonna take care of this."

I nodded before realizing Sam couldn't hear me nod through the phone. "Thanks," I replied. I hung up the phone and sat on my porch steps with my head in my hands and waited for whoever was headed to my house. It was less than five minutes before Embry materialized out of the woods Jake had only just disappeared into. He was pulling up his shorts as he jogged towards me.

"Hi, Embry," I mumbled in recognition. I wasn't crying anymore – thankfully – but the feeling remained.

He took a seat beside me. "What happened, Rach?"

My head slumped on his shoulder; I always liked Embry. He was a kind and quiet kid. The pack made him slightly more outgoing but the shift didn't change him too much. He was a very empathetic person. "You didn't _hear_?" I asked. "You ran over here, didn't you?"

"No," he shook his head. "I can hear him, but it's nothing really intelligible. It's more just emotion. It was pretty miserable though."

I took a deep breath and exhaled. "He got an invitation to Bella and Edward's wedding."

"Aw… shoot, really?" He rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Wow… well, that explains a lot. Geez, that's really sucks. Hardcore."

"Yep," was all I could offer.

* * *

"How many fucking times do I have beg you to _stay away_ from any of us when we get like that?"

Embry's calm and dulcet manner had been replaced shortly after his arrival by slightly more abrasive and irate boyfriend.

"Paul," I yelled. "You don't understand! He was so upset! All I wanted was to get him out of the house! He wasn't going to hurt me!"

"Like hell he wasn't," he retorted. "An unintentional shift is totally uncontrollable, Rach." It's a testament to Paul's tolerance of my short fuse and his mastery of his own anger that he never yells at me. I do all the yelling. I'm not ignorant to the fact that I am the calisthenics for Paul's control. "Rachel," he continued, "I can see inside his mind. He was so close to losing it right next to you that even he was scared. Nothing is bad enough to warrant your getting hurt."

"Because you love me, right?"

"Yes…" he said. He sounded worn out. I stood up from my spot on the porch and marched into the house. Paul followed me part of the way and I picked up the offensive card stock envelope from the counter and the piece of paper that'd fallen out of it and stuffed it back inside. I thrust the envelope at Paul and he looked at me oddly.

He opened it up and pulled out the piece of paper that I hadn't read, first. "What's this?"

"I don't know I didn't read that one."

"It's from the Leech," he said in shock.

I reached up quickly and snatched it from his hand. I folded it back up and slipped it into my pocket. Paul gave me a 'what gives?' look. "It's not ours to read."

He shook his head, knowing he would eventually siphon it off my brother's mind eventually. I didn't care. Even that was different then reading the letter. It was personal and I wasn't ready to go there yet.

Paul pulled the fancy card from its matching envelop before he read about as far I probably had. I watched his expression change and his eyes widen. "August 13th?" he asked in surprise. Okay, maybe he read a little further. "It's the middle of June. Don't weddings take time?"

"What?" I stepped closer and looked at the part of the invitation that I hadn't seen. "Holy crap," I muttered. "Yes. They take months."

Paul sat down on the couch as he continued to stare at the invitation. "No wonder he flipped out. Twiggy little Swan broke that boy in half, good and proper."

I flopped down next to him. "Are you feeling sympathetic? That sounds very unlike you."

"I'm just imagining what it would be like to lose you. Your brother _really _loved that girl."

"I know… Now I have to tell Dad…"

* * *

Somehow, word of Jacob going missing got around awfully quick. The pack couldn't reel him back in; Sam told them to let him be. Jake ran off later that day and he's been gone ever since.

Charlie came over that afternoon just after I sat down with my Dad to tell him about it. Billy was really upset – he didn't show it – because that's how he rolls, but I knew it.

Charlie Swan always liked him a lot. He preferred him for Bella over Edward. Good man, that Charlie Swan. Good judge of character. Charlie didn't know about the wolves, and mounted a plan to paper the whole county with a missing person's flyer.

I was at a total loss. I didn't know what to tell my dad or what to say or what to do. I knew nothing could really make it better. I knew he felt like he was losing all his family. First he lost my Mom, then Becca got married, I went to school and now Jake had run off. I didn't blame him one bit for feeling the way he did.

"He'll be back, Dad," I assured him. "He just needs to sort out his head. A broken heart isn't so easy to mend."

That, my Dad did understand. After losing Mom all those years ago, he was heart-broken. He loved the woman so much and their lives were torn apart so early. Bella was literally as good as dead. She would be married and changed soon. Those leeches would stop her heart.

But my Dad wasn't depressed forever after my Mom passed. He came back. He raised his kids and loved us and had fun and laughed and we had a good childhood. So my Dad knew Jake would be back. The question was when.

It was an odd little hole in the house now. It was quiet without Jake always talking or laughing or making stupid comments. The house was still at night, totally devoid of his bear-like snoring. It was just colder without him.

It made me so sad.


	20. Chapter 20

Having Jake gone was really surreal. I only felt the daze for about a day before I had to go into damage control mode. Dad was upset. Really upset. So I had to do my best to stay positive. All day I would be upbeat and chipper. I insisted that Jake just needed his space and that the news of Bella's wedding was just the straw that broke the camel's back. It was his first young love. It was supposed to hurt.

I didn't really believe much of this. As much as I disliked Bella Swan, I wasn't blind to my brother's love for her. Yep, love. He was kind and happy and selfless. I'd never seen him quite like he was when he was around her. It didn't matter that she was a mess, her presence was enough to make him happy.

So, during the day I kept up normal appearances for my dad's sake and I tried to regulate the wolf pack flow that came through my house. For a while, it was just a force-of-habit issue. Embry, Quil and Seth were just so used to stopping by the house and finding Jake. It was practically instinctual. Then they started coming by hoping for word from him. No dice. Then they just got lonely. I couldn't really blame them.

Just like with my dad, I tried to stay positive, but they saw through me pretty quickly. It was actually kind of nice to just be dejected and upset along with them. They were borderline insulted by my attempts to fake it. It's hard to fake anything in this extended family.

Only with the pack and at nights would I allow myself to really feel that hole of sadness. It was different than when I went away to school. I knew Jake was in La Push, relatively safe and happy. But now? I had absolutely no idea. None whatsoever. And because of his fluidity of species, he wasn't even bound by human limitations in his escape.

I was worried. I was lonely. I was sad. I'd always had my baby brother around. Since I'd come home, we'd been much more like friends - comrades in this crazy reality the world had dealt us. Part of me missed my friend and part of my older sister instinct couldn't help but worry constantly for the little brother that had a better shot at protecting himself than most carbon-based life forms out there.

One night, I'd been so lonely and my brain just wouldn't shut off. I sat up and propped open my window, waiting for the inevitable thud of footfalls as Paul ran home, doing his usual circuit around my house, at 2AM. I heard the cadence of his four-legged self, slightly heavier on every third beat, and whispered. "Paul!" the sudden halting in noise assured me that he'd heard me.

I sat back, opened the window fully and waited about ten seconds before he hopped through in his drawstring shorts. He walked carefully over to my bed and took a seat. I cozied up to his side, burrowing my nose into his shoulder. Just off patrol, he smelled like dirt, rain, pine, salt and that vague mustiness of fur.

He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer from his side onto his lap - knowing already why I'd called him. I was lonely. And if I closed my eyes, his temperature was the same as Jake's and he smelled almost the same. But it was only a ghost of similarity. Paul and Jacob were two different people in my life. They touched me differently. They talked to me differently. We had fully different relationships. Being around Pack just made me feel better for some uncertain reason. Maybe because they all had those familiar traits. But Paul was admittedly the one to make me feel better because I couldn't talk to the others the way I talked to him.

"Any word?" I asked quietly. Since Jake had run off I had taken to asking Paul after his shifting if he'd heard Jake in their communal brain. The only other person I'd had the guts to ask was Leah. She just nodded in understanding and said she hadn't. No one had.

"No," Paul replied, talking into my hair. "Boy's gettin' awfully good. There's no reason to think he isn't shifted, but Sam thinks he's trying to fully embrace the wolf for a while, so he isn't communicating on the same plane as we are."

"Great," I mumbled, "he's going feral..."

"Not like that," Paul sighed.

I reached up, lacing my arms around his shoulders and holding on for dear life - though I doubt it hurt him - I just wanted an anchor to my bed, because whenever I got to thinking about it, I just wanted to run. I'm not sure why, but I just wanted to run. To run away? To run and find Jake? To run until I couldn't feel my legs anymore. I think it was mostly just the physical exertion, knowing I still had the power to do _something_ - even if it was completely unrelated to this situation.

"He's fine, Rach. He's fine," he murmured to me soothingly as the tears began to build in my eyes. He moved his hands over my back rhythmically as he rocked. He'd be great with kids someday, because I turned into a total toddler in these circumstances.

"I feel so helpless," I confessed as I tipped my head down staring at my lap.

"Join the club, babe. This is not something us superwolves are used to."

"I just want this all to go away. I wish he'd never met that girl. I can't stand watching all this play out."

Paul's hands rested on my hips as he thought over my statement. "You know, I thought that for a while too but I'm not so sure. I mean as much as I do not like the leech lover, I can't help but be at least thankful for her preventing your brother from being a total bitch about this wolf thing."

I looked up at him, wondering what alternate universe allowed for Paul Lahote to appreciate Bella Swan's indirect presence in his life. Mean but true. He hated her more than I did, for reasons he wouldn't even fully explain to me.

"Hear me out," he rolled his eyes, "when your brother first shifted, he was a total emo bitch about it. Yeah, I guess it makes sense and I'm sure it's probably a healthier reaction than Seth's unadulterated joy, but it sucks more to share a brain and time and close proximity to a guy with nothing but dejection pulsing off him, than the one shitting sparkles and rainbows. But when Bella finally 'figured out' the shifting thing and she was back in Jake's head all the time he was just content. His head was a hell of a lot more peaceful and easier to be around."

"So you like Swan for purely selfish reasons? It makes your head more peaceful by default?"

"That's definitely part of it," he smiled. "But besides it just being a nicer mental atmosphere and his performing better it's just kinda nice to see someone you consider family to be all right. I'm not a chick so I don't care so intensely about 'his happiness'. But I'm not cold enough to want him to be miserable, you know? Jake wasn't so bad when he wasn't thinking about the dumb broad."

"And that's just kinda the course of life. He's pretty damn young. Sometimes, chicks just step on your heart. The fact that vampires and werewolves are involved is slightly less important."

"When did you become so damn deep and insightful?" I asked.

"I," Paul scoffed in mock offense, "am insulted. I'm a highly intuitive and philosophical being." I couldn't help my smile and snort of laughter. "Ah," he sighed, "I've missed that face."

* * *

Two days following Paul's oddly insightful comments and easy calming of my lonely depression, I dragged him food shopping.

"Why am I coming with you? Remind me again?" he whined as I physically pulled him out of the truck.

"Because," I insisted, "Emily's feeding your brothers and Leah's on patrol. I can't do it alone. Jake normally comes with me."

"Fine," he whined, rolling out if the truck. "What do I have to do?"

"You can pick up heavy stuff, I guess." he quirked a brow at me. He hadn't really know me to be the type of girl who needed help lifting sacks of potatoes. Truth be told, having him along was more psychologically sustaining than practical. I didn't need him for much, I was just way too scared to do it alone, still. I needed someone to bounce ideas off when I couldn't really see the difference between two products. However, I was beginning to regret my choice as he picked a cart and had it doing wheelies before we even made it into the store. "It's more for my psyche than anything else," I told him. "I feel less terrified than when I go it alone."

"Rock on," was all he replied with.

He was actually pretty helpful. He'd never actually gotten around to telling me he'd been grocery shopping for his house since his mom took up second shift. Three years ago. _Yeah_. Granted, he did tell me he hated food shopping so I agreed not to make a habit of bringing him. I think he only came because he knew my emotional state was halfway stable these days.

We were on our way out after a brief and successful venture when I reached my palm up and slapped my forehead. "Crud," I sighed. "I forgot my dad's prescription..."

"Go ahead," Paul nodded. "You hit up the pharmacy and I'll meet you at the truck." I nodded and trotted towards the small pharmacy. I waited in line for ten solid minutes as an older man - who was apparently mostly deaf and blind - asked the pharmacist every conceivable question about his thyroid medication. I give the pharmacist credit, he was very patient and helpful. He didn't deserve my snippiness when I finally reached the counter. "Black, William. 11 River Drive."

I snagged the pills and offered an apologetic thanks as I made for the sliding doors.

I was not prepared for the scene outside. The parking lot was small - because the store was pretty small. I had parked in the first row of spaces and about thirty yards away in the back of the lot, there was an all out brawl happening. I went to my truck and tossed the prescription inside. No Paul. I then did a double-take between the cab of my truck and the ruckus in the back of the lot. "Shit," I muttered.

I slammed the door and started at a jog towards the back of the parking lot. Paul's aggressive temper combined with some local idiot was bound to get said idiot killed and Paul in trouble.

So far Paul had avoided actual charges by the sheer grace of God. That and Charlie Swan, bless his heart, knew his citizenry well. He knew Paul's dad was a mess and his mother was an angel. So, the harmless crap that would've gotten most teens a wrap sheet got him a night in a cell to cool off. He never did anything to hurt innocent people. It was never malicious. Just stupid stuff. Unfortunately, Paul was getting older and soon he'd be a legal adult. Charlie would have to start charging him with assault in these situations. Not to mention the combination of his temper and strength that went through the roof after he'd gone Pack .

When I finally made it to the altercation, I gasped. Paul was beating the crap out of Jesse, the local dead beat. Literally. There was blood on the pavement and Paul looked in mint condition as he wailed on Jesse as he lay on the ground. There were a few boys, maybe young high school age, staring close by in horror and awe.

"What happened?" I shrieked.

When they just stared at me, I opted for a more realistic approach. I bent down and grabbed Paul's shoulder rather forcefully. He shrugged me off easily before I punched him in the back. Hard.

"Stop it!" There was no doubt Jesse was a low life dirt bag but I didn't think that warranted a homicide investigation. It was looking pretty terrible. Paul was fully in a zone as Jesse tried to reach up and thrust Paul off him. It wasn't going to happen for the poor guy, unfortunately. "Paul!" I shouted as I bent down and put all my strength into pulling back his one arm.

I growled in frustration and finally reached down and clutched a knot of hair at the crown of his head. "Jesus," he flinched, stopping his assault immediately and reaching up to his head. It was his weak spot, I'd learned. Tug too hard and he'd flinch like a girl, just right and it was a total turn on. I reached down and grabbed his right wrist as it tried to free his scalp.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Not now, Rachel," he ground out.

"Bull shit, not now," I shrieked. "You're gonna fucking kill him! There are kids here!" I leaned backwards using all my weight to propel him backwards with me and to his feet.

"He deserves it," he muttered.

"That's not your call to make." I'd stepped in front of him forming a barrier between him and Jesse who was standing again and bleeding heavily from his nose, lip, part of his eye and maybe his ear. I glared at Jesse, who I'd once terrified when we were freshmen in high school. Thankfully he has since never bothered the Black family.

He met my death glare and his jaw relaxed infinitesimally. He took a step back and raised his hands. "Not in front of the lady, eh, Lahote?"

"Yeah, real chivalrous," Paul replied with a sneer, "you're just fucking scared of her."

"Paul," I said in a warning tone. I had one hand firmly on his chest - way overheated and pulsing with his heart rate. The fire in my eyes I'm sure matched his own. I was intensely protective of him and I didn't want to see this escalate any further. I was about to open my mouth to speak again when the lazy sirens and slow chug of Charlie's cruiser - desperately in need of an oil change - could be heard making it's leisurely pace around the corner.

The young boys were still here and as I looked over I saw one holding an open cell phone limply at his side. "Rachel," Paul said firmly, "get outta here."

I didn't need to be told twice. I went over to the three boys, "C'mon guys. Let's get out of here or we're going to get wrangled in with these two Neanderthals." The three only nodded vaguely before taking off at full sprint the other way down the road. I turned to watch as Paul stood in his spot, in a rage and avoiding having to look in Jesse's direction. It was hard not to go to him. I got in my truck and buckled up and locked the doors - just to be on the safe side.

When Charlie got there he had them sit down and talked to them - though I couldn't hear him - before going over to handcuff Jesse. I did a not-so-subtle victory laugh.

But then I almost rocket launched out of the seat when he did the same to Paul. Paul's supersonic hearing heard the thud of my hand against the glass window across the lot. He looked up and sternly shook his head.

I sat there and chewed my thumbnail into nonexistence as I watched Charlie put both the large Quileute boys into the back seat of his cruiser and leave.

I continued to sit in the truck staring towards the back of the lot - dumbstruck - until my phone vibrated on the dash bringing me back to reality.

That was the first night I ran.


	21. Chapter 21

When I got home that afternoon, I pulled up the driveway and got out of the truck. For a while, I just stood there. I stared into the ether for a while. Then I just turned around and began running down my street.

I felt the burn in my calves as my feet gained purchase from the cracked pavement and compressed dirt beneath them.

I turned the corner towards town as my breathing picked up. I could feel the air rush through my nose and mouth and down through my lungs, inflating and deflating with rapid and efficient duty, saturating my blood with oxygen. My eyes stung a bit from the cool breeze and my chest began to feel spikes of pain as my lungs worked over time to pump the oxygen to my heart in abundance.

My hands chilled in the exposure to the moist breeze as my legs and my core began to heat with exertion of my sudden run. I don't know why I was running. And I even asked myself this while I was jogging through the main square in town. I didn't know why. I didn't care. I just kept going.

At some point my brain just sort of went into sleep mode. I didn't really think about anything. I just turned all my power into pushing my body forward. I wasn't really aware of the passage of time. I didn't know if I'd been running for ten minutes or an hour. Finally, though, I stopped. I came to the end of a road and was greeted by a tall chain-link fence, spun on the top with barbed wire.

I stopped and my brain re-engaged. After listening to the tell-tale sounds, I could quickly discern that I was outside the Quillayute State Airport. The small public airport owned by the town of Forks. Then, I must've sat down at some point, because I remember watching a small craft come in and one leave. I cast my gaze up to the sky and watched them take off and gain altitude until they turned to nothing but wispy white trails in my limited vision.

I think my sudden desire to run into the meaningless abyss was beginning to make more sense. If I allowed myself to think about it, I felt panicked. I felt like I was losing it all. I felt like a little kid again. I felt remarkably like I did in the months after my mother had died. After my mom was killed, I developed some pretty severe anxiety. I never wanted to go anywhere without Dad, Becca or Jake. School was a struggle for a while and I don't even remember half of the fourth grade. I was terrified of losing the rest of my family, of being all alone. When you're a kid and you are so dependent on the people around you, that's a big deal kind of thing.

After a while, it just sort of faded. It was still an issue from time to time. I couldn't hack doing a sleepover until my high school years and I still had bouts of anxiety or sadness. It had been so long since my mother had passed though, that I hadn't wanted to bring it up. I knew it would just make everyone feel terrible again. So I would just blame it on school stress or PMS and wait for it to pass.

I knew we didn't have the money to have me psyched and frankly, I didn't want to be telling my problems to someone who didn't get it. Sure, they were educated to medicate and talk to me, but they weren't going to get it. And how could they? I didn't blame them for that.

Now, I was a full-grown adult woman. I was fully capable of supporting myself in the real world. But that didn't stop the childhood anxiety from creeping its way into my head again. Jacob had run off because he was so upset about losing Bella. I had just watched Paul being carted off in Charlie Swan's cruiser. I wasn't a psychologist, but I'd be willing to bet I was having some kind of childhood flashback.

_Great_, I thought to myself as I rubbed my hands over my forehead. I hadn't felt that way in years. Honestly, moving off the reservation had helped a lot. There were just too many memories – good and bad. I didn't want it back; it was a terrible feeling. I thought I'd finally beat it.

The sun was beginning to set and I decided it was time to go home. I was glad I knew where I was, because I had all but blacked out on my way here. I had no idea I'd come so far out of town.

When I got back to my street I slowed, walking the dozen yards to my property. I reached over the back quarter panel of the truck and pulled out a few bags and proceeded up the front steps. I had been glancing down and hadn't noticed my father sitting in the doorway. He startled me and I jumped. "God, Dad… You scared the crap out of me."

"Rachel, where the heck have you been? You pulled up to the house hours ago?"

"I, uh… decided to go for a run?" He was giving me that soul penetrating father look. It was something he rarely did and therefore I was not very good at deflecting it.

"Before bringing the groceries in? Or even come into the house?" I nodded. "And where, pray tell, did you go."

"Um… I turned around at Quillayute State Airport," I gave my sort of answer.

Dad's eyes bugged with that one. "Rachel, that's an eight mile round trip. You ran eight miles?"

"I guess so," I shrugged and slid past him bringing the groceries to the kitchen.

I could here the pressure of his wheels against the floor as he followed me. "Charlie called me."

"Great," I said with absolutely no enthusiasm. He knew I probably didn't want to talk about Paul being arrested. "He wanted me to let you know not to worry."

I nodded and turned and began unpacking the food. "Rachel, are you all right?" My Dad asked me point blank. I froze in my place at the fridge. When had my father become this observant?

"I'm fine, Dad," I replied tersely, trying not to give anything away. I was being the strong one in the family, after all.

"Rachel?" he replied in kind; his let's-be-serious tone. I turned around to face him. "I know you get upset when these sorts of things happen…"

"What sorts of things, Dad?" I was not playing into this.

"When people you care about abruptly disappear or aren't around for a while."

"What?" I deadpanned. How did my Dad _know_ about that? I never really talked about it with anybody. In the early days without Mom, I'd talked to Becca but after that I never mentioned it.

"Rachel," my Dad sighed with his all-knowing air. "You have been that way since you were a baby. You hated being alone. And ever since you were a kid. You get like this when… something happens."

His momentary pause let me know he knew _exactly _what he was talking about. He knew what happened to me when Mom died.

"How do you know?" I asked wide-eyed.

"Rach? Please, I'm your Dad. Don't you think I pick up on these things? You've always been much like me, though. You like to deal with things on your own terms. At some points, yes, I do regret not asking… but at the time, I thought better of it."

Oh my god. My Dad had known all along? "How long have you known?"

With that he shrugged. "A long time."

I didn't know if I was more shocked that my father had known all this time and never said anything or because he'd known and never done anything to help me. Truth be told, I couldn't hold it against him. I knew that if he ever said anything to me about it when I was younger I would have denied it. Because I denied there was anything wrong, even to myself. It wasn't until college – when I was away from home and the res – that I could look at it objectively and say I had a problem.

My dad was right. I didn't like sharing that kind of stuff with people. Especially when I wouldn't even share it with my own conscious mind. I was broken from my inner musings as I felt my Dad's hand on my own. "Just know you always have a support system here in La Push, Rachel. Many people here care for you. I don't want you to feel like you have to run away."

I bent down and wrapped my arms around my Dad's shoulders, hugging him tight. "I love you, Dad."

He seemed shocked by my gesture and I wondered what kind of bitch I had to be in order to blow my father's mind with a hug. "I love you, too, Rachel."

"I promise, I'm not leaving. I missed you and Jake too much last time." I slowly returned my arms to my side and stood upright. I smiled and remember the rest of the groceries in the car. Before I stepped out the door, Dad called my name.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you go for a spontaneous run across the county, let me know?"

A laughed rumbled from my throat. "Sure, Dad."

* * *

_Rachel—_

_I would've much preferred talking with you in person, however it didn't seem worth waging a war for me to darken your doorstep. I believe that in text, perhaps, you'll allow me a degree more leeway in making my thoughts known than if I were to converse with you in person._

_My purpose in writing this note – and I'm sure you would have intuited my motives without my being so blunt – is rather selfish. It pertains to your brother and my fiancée. At this point, Jacob's happiness is terribly important to Bella. There are many parts of her that even I have yet to see that care for him very deeply. His absence has troubled her greatly, as I don't doubt it has caused you and your father extreme sadness._

_Just as Jacob's happiness is critical to Bella, Bella's happiness is critical to my own. Similarly, I am sure that your own brother's happiness is also quite important to you. For this reason, I ask you have some mercy upon the both of them. I know, through the mental connection all the wolves share, that you are not the biggest supporter of Bella and Jacob's relationship. I'm also not ignorant of the fact that you rather loathe me and my family. All this I grant you without argument – because I'm inclined to agree on a certain level._

_The long and short of it is, I do sincerely implore you to tread lightly upon your brother's arrival back home, at least in regards to the impending wedding. It would be of the utmost pleasure for Bella to see Jacob just that one last time. None of us are unaware of the ties that must be severed upon Bella's transformation._

_I wouldn't blame you in the slightest for storming back across town only to make me eat my own words. Rumor has it you already know where I live and have put my brother in his place. However, please consider that maybe we both have something to gain from this. Even though my motives are vaguely shrouded desires to keep Bella cheerful, I hope maybe you can find selfish motives in your brother's small bit of closure. That way, perhaps we can get through the coming weeks without making our loved ones terribly uncomfortable._

_ Edward Cullen_

What kind of acid was I tripping on? I had the day off today and the least likely of all people had shown up on my doorstep. Okay, well the least likely of all people had written me a letter, hand delivered by the second least likely of people.

I was cleaning the oven – an act I found was necessary now that I made sporadic attempts to use the beast – when there was a polite knock on my door. I tossed the yellow rubber gloves in the sink and moved towards the door, opening before even checking.

The sight of Bella Swan standing there almost made me choke. I wasn't expecting it.

"Hi," she offered quietly. She met my eyes – which I found at first to be pretentious but I did at least respect her making eye contact and not faking bashfulness.

"Hi," I replied not moving from the doorway. I had no idea as to why she'd be here. I really didn't. Did she have no sense of self-preservation? She was not well-liked these days around La Push. Ever since Jake took off, even her most comfy of allies were a bit indifferent. Then she wound up _here_ of all places?

She was either hard as nails or stupid.

"He's not here," I offered, somehow incapable of uttering Jake's name.

She nodded. "I know that," she cleared her throat slightly as her feet shuffled. I guess I made her nervous. "I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Me?" I cracked a grin with that one. Was she _insane?_ She nodded frantically as she stared at the doorknob – her courage fading fast. "Let me get this straight – you trucked your ass all the way from Forks, through the DMZ, knowing full well that they're all but out for your head in this town – just to talk to me?"

She rocked back on her heels and chewed her bottom lip. If I didn't know she was a nervous girl, I would have thought she was strung out with all the fidgeting. That and her pale skin, gaunt frame and the dark circles made her look like she was starting to nurse an illegal habit. She was lucky her dad was chief of police.

"More or less," she acceded. "Yes. It's not quite as daring as you make it sound."

Well, jeez. If she made it all the way over here without getting shot or chased off the land, the least I can do is find out what she has to say to me. "C'mon in," I nodded my head over my shoulder and turned about. She followed me inside and she was so damn quiet. The only thing I could hear was the shuffling of her clothes. I cracked open the fridge and turned to offer her a drink. She really did look unhealthy. She wore a white t-shirt with another flannel button-up on top. Her trim jeans and Keds just emphasized her twiggy frame. She wasn't just slight, she looked sick, wan, tired.

"Want something to drink?" I offered after I realized I was staring. Bella didn't seem like the type to start some kind of chick fight, but who knows when she was bound to snap.

She just sort of wrinkled her brow and thought over my question like the answer was worth a million dollars. "It's not a trick question," I grinned. "I'm gonna have lemonade if that helps at all…"

"Lemonade sounds good," she spoke.

"Cool," I said, "Take a seat if you like." My natural harshness was wearing off, mostly because I was afraid the poor girl was going to burst into tears at any moment. I didn't like her, that doesn't mean I wanted to traumatize or terrorize her.

I poured out two glasses of lemonade and took a seat on the kitchen side of the island and Bella sat across from me. "So…" I began after a gulp of juice, "what brings you to our little part of the world? You got balls, kid. That's for sure."

"I didn't realize it was that bad," she mumbled to her hands.

I shrugged. "You scared the Beta off. I think everyone's mostly confused."

"Confused?" she repeated.

"Yeah. They just don't understand your reasoning. Why you went back to the ones that left you to die. You were doing so much better here."

"But, I—" she began, I'm sure, an attempt to defend her actions.

"Hey," I said holding up a hand. "You're an adult Bella, you can make your own choices for yourself. But actions have consequences…" I shrugged. "And now we're living through it."

She nodded and spoke after a moment of silence. "Well, I stopped by to deliver that," she indicated the letter opened at my side. "I don't know what it is, but Edward asked me to bring it specifically to _you_. With the treaty and such," she waved her hand about, "he figured it would be easiest."

"He _let_ you on the res? Actually _asked_ you to come here? Doesn't sound like a leech to me…"

"I may or may not have convinced him to let me take it," she replied, her eyes never meeting mine.

"Even though you knew Jake wasn't here?"

"Yep. I just…" she trailed off, chewing her lip and thinking over her next words. "I miss it here. Even after I found out about the Pack, things here were just so… simple. It's hard to describe. It just felt comfortable. I wanted to visit."

"Well, if I said, 'you're always welcome here,' that wouldn't be entirely truthful given recent history. However, you're hardly banned from the res, either."

Reining in my normally unbridled hatred for the girl was a bit difficult. Part of me just wanted to ream her out, to let her have it. Clearly, she'd gone through her whole life with everyone tip toeing around her, trying not to upset her. Sometimes people just needed the cold hard truth. But I knew Jake wouldn't want me to be mean to her. Even knowing what she'd just done to my little brother, he still cared about her and he would want me to treat her with respect. I would honor that.

I would also very begrudgingly admit that Edward might have had a point. These coming weeks were not going to be easy. They were going to be downright painful. And despite how much a good verbal dope slap would be good for either Bella or my brother, it just wasn't the time. It was probably too late. Now it was time to move on and try to make the break as clean as possible. Edward and his family, and the Pack and Billy and I now all got to facilitate this new chapter in our diplomatic relations. Who would have thought?

So, I would take Edward up on his offer. I would tread upon this situation with more grace, tact and diplomacy than I ever employed. For my brother's sake. Bella be damned.

"It's rough, now, Bella. But Jake will be back and you'll have your opportunity to make amends if that's what you want. All I ask is that you figure out what you want, and you make it perfectly clear. I don't want anymore miscommunications where Jake is concerned."

"Me neither. I just wish none of this had happened." Now she really looked like she was going to cry. Although it was hard to tell considering she hadn't made eye contact with me once since she sat down.

"Well, living in the past is useless. Nothing we can do about it. All that's left is to do what we can with the time given us. You're on borrowed time," I indicated significantly. She understood my meaning; her being turned would wreak an incredible amount of havoc her on the res and in the Pack. "Use it well. Because afterwards… there are no guarantees."

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "For all of this. It's such a mess and I could've handled it all so differently. It makes me so sick to know how much I've upset things. With Jake, with your family, the Pack everyone. I feel so stupid..."

I sat there in a mild state of shock. Bella Swan had just apologized to me for turning life on the res upside down? More or less? Granted, it was clear she was doing this because it was eating at her own conscience, but she'd done it nonetheless. I wanted to hate her - and I mostly did - but I had to give her some credit. No, I didn't.

She opened her mouth to continue when there was a pounding up my back stairs. "Rachel? Could you do me a wicked favor? I need—" Jared came stomping through the hall and came to a sudden halt when he saw Bella at my table. He just kind of stared at her in shock and maybe stunned surprise. Then came a face I recognized, one I wanted to unleash on her. He was going to start yelling really soon.

Bella sprung up from her seat and darted out the door, quicker than I suspected her frail form possible of. "Wait here," I put a hand on Jared's shoulder willing him to stay and not leave before I could explain or he did something stupid. I followed Bella out of the house and caught her just before she jumped in her arcane Chevy. "Bella!" she turned quickly to me, her eyes and cheeks shining with tears. "Look, I know we're far from being on friendly terms, but just know that _this_," I indicated the ground beneath me, "is always an option for you. If you change your mind… again… never feel like you can't come back here."

She nodded tightly and slammed the door on her truck before turning back down the road into Forks.

"What the hell was _that_ about?" Jared asked when I returned.

"Search me," I shrugged picking up the two empty glasses on the table and bringing them to the sink. "She showed up here out of nowhere. Said she missed it."

"And you invited her in?" he looked at me like I was crazy.

"What was I supposed to do?" I retorted hopping up on the counter. "Slam the door in her face?"

"Duh!" he shouted at me like that was the obvious solution.

"Jared, Jake still cares about her. As much as that bothers me, it's true. It bugs me when he rags on Paul; I can't be a total bitch to Bella."

"Okay," he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, changing the course of conversation. Lord knew any of us could argue about that topic for days, but what was the point? "I won't tell Paul you compared him to Bella if you take a look at my mom's hot water heater. It's acting up and I can't afford a plumber."

"Of course. Does tomorrow work for her?"

"You are an angel with a tool belt, Rachel Black."

"Anything I can do to help."


	22. Chapter 22

I was elbow deep Mrs. Cameron's plumbing situation – which was pretty terrible – while I forced Jared to help by going to buy spare parts. I was pretty sure that some half-blind, thumbless, dementia patient had been the last one to repair the Cameron's water heater. I had asked Mrs. Cameron about it and she said it had been fading in and out for close to two weeks. For that, Jared earned a dope slap. Just because he and his brothers found the river suitable for hygiene purposes, didn't mean the rest of us humans did.

"When was the last time you were home, you moron?" I growled at him as his mother tended the yard outside.

Jared grimaced and rubbed the soft spot on the back of his head that I had managed to reach. "Ow, God… I don't know, maybe a week? I only stop in for clothes and food. Whoa! Don't hit me again!"

He deftly avoided another blow from me but only barely. "Jared, I get that you're all busy beyond belief, especially given… recent events," I glossed lightly over my brother's total disappearance and Paul's arrest. "But that doesn't mean you can just _bail_ on your mom! Your dad's up north working; you are all she has left here!"

"I can't help it if she doesn't _mention it," _he hissed back at me.

"Jared," I sighed, rubbing my brow. "Work with me here? Your mom doesn't know about the Pack. She knows you're of age, doing sketchy things and are engaged to a younger woman across town. She's afraid to pry because it might push you away. _Therefore_, she's not going to nag you about the water heater!" Jared just gave me this sort of flat look. "Would it kill you to take a shower here every few days?" I whacked him in the arm with an adjustable wrench. "Pretend you still have family? You're hurting her."

"Sheesh… fine, woman," he flinched back. "Quit abusing me."

I shoved a post it note into his hand. "Go down to the hardware store and get this stuff. It shouldn't be more than twenty bucks."

"Yes, boss-lady." He saluted me once and was out the door before I was able to land another strike on him.

I had returned to undoing the previous roughshod repairs, when Mrs. Cameron came and knocked on the open closet door where her hot water heater was stored and I was crouched. "Rachel, honey? It's your Dad. He'd like a quick word."

I crawled out of the small space and stood upright. "Thank you, Mrs. Cameron."

She smiled sweetly, looking a bit tired. "Call me Maggie," she insisted as she handed me the phone.

"Dad?" I asked as I used the chance to stretch my cramping muscles. "What's up?"

"Hi, Rach. Just got the call from Charlie in Forks. He's agreed to let Paul go without any charges. Apparently Jesse was trying to sell to the high school kids again." I heard my Dad issue a long-suffering sigh. Tribes got enough of a bad wrap, especially in regards to certain stereotypes. My Dad and the rest of the Council had always tried - and mostly succeeded - in keeping La Push clean. They didn't want to give anyone a reason to view the res as charity case. I could tell Jesse's arrest both relieved and worried him. "Charlie says he could bring him up on a few misdemeanors, but he won't – given what Jesse was up to."

I sighed in relief. That little shit was so lucky. I didn't know whether I was more relieved or pissed off. "Thanks, Dad. I'm glad Charlie went easy on him. This is _not_ happening again."

"I believe that. If there's anyone that can convince Paul Lahote to calm down, it's you Rach. You've done wonders for him so far."

"Everyone keeps telling me that, but I don't think I get it," I muttered as I leaned against an end table in the hall.

"That's because you didn't know the man _before_. I tell you Rach, you think he's a loose cannon now, you should have seen him before he met you. The Pack and the Council knew what was really happening – he was simply and angry kid who got compounded with phasing – but to everyone else, he was trouble. Real trouble. It's nice for him – for his family – that you came into his life. Not everyone's convinced he's pure riffraff now."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "Only half the reservation hates him, now. That's such an improvement."

"Time heals all wounds," Billy offered sagely.

"I wish I could be as optimistic as you, Dad."

"Ah, it comes with time and raising melodramatic teenage girls. I told Charlie you'd be around in an hour or two. Finish up with Margaret first; Charlie's at the station until six today."

I agreed and hung up the phone. As I went to the kitchen to place the hand-held back in its spot, Mrs. Cameron surprised me with her presence. I could have sworn she had gone back outside. "Oh!" I said my hand flying to my chest. "Mrs. Cameron, you scared me…"

"Maggie, dear. I insist. _Maggie._ I've known you since you were a child and now – in your mid twenties – you are more than allowed to use my given name."

"Sorry, _Maggie_," I replied intentionally, handing her back her phone. "Old habits die hard."

"As long as they're not contagious," she countered as she peered at me over the top of her eyeglasses.

I watched her speculatively, knowing she was getting at something, but played dumb for now. I opened my mouth to make a joke at Jacob's expense – he had more than enough bad habits to irritate me – when I remembered… and snapped my jaws closed. I was willing enough to let Jake leave the toilet seat up and refuse to use the bread ties if he would just _come home._

Before I could dwell too long on that train of thought, Maggie Cameron's voice interrupted. "That boy of yours, Paul Lahote?" she tapped the antenna of the phone against my shoulder. "He's a good boy gone astray, but don't let him take you with him, Rachel. You're a smart girl. And believe me, I know the wonders a good, smart girl can do for a wayward young man," she nodded towards Jared's rarely used bedroom.

"He's a good guy, Maggie," I insisted staring at Jared's bedroom door. "I know Jared's seemed a little rebellious lately—"

"Like your Paul."

"Just like my Paul," I smiled. "But you're absolutely right. They're both good guys. And I know the prognosis doesn't seem good, but I promise you they're not doing anything bad. Appearances can be deceiving. They're simply… preoccupied."

"Do you know something I don't, Rachel?" Again Maggie Cameron eyed me speculatively. She had never been a prying woman – which, fortunately for Jared – had played to his new found lifestyle. But she now appeared to be at the point in life where she was desperate – would do anything – to learn about the true well being of her son. For that she would pry.

Unfortunately, it wasn't my place to give her what she sought. I'd never before questioned Sam's injunction to the wolves. They were all ordered to keep their phasing and the Pack a secret – unless absolutely necessary. Only imprints and members of Council knew. And those where it was unavoidable. Sam had actually lifted the injunction in Embry's case, because his disappearances were causing him and his mother so much worry it was affecting Pack dynamics. He still hadn't told her. But Jared – like the others – had been given no such reprieve. All their parents, their former friends, their teachers were in the dark. Most thought the Pack boys had joined 'Sam Uley's Gang' as it had been titled.

"Maggie," I glanced up the older woman's worry-lined face. "Do you know why Paul got arrested a few days back?"

She started momentarily, not expecting my question. "Well, I've heard rumors, but I've never been one to take in gossip," she answered honestly. That's why I liked Maggie Cameron. Sure, she worried herself sick over Jared, but she never berated him, never thought less of him. She was just concerned. She wouldn't believe the lies they told about the Pack boys until she heard from her son herself; for the time being, she just held her maternal eye close.

"He got arrested for beating up Jesse Whitehorse. He was dealing in the parking lot of the food store, just over the line in Forks." She gave me a quizzical look, wondering whether his intentions were good or if a full-fledged drug war was about to start in our corner of the world. "He was dealing to kids – young high schoolers – and Paul lost it."

And with that, Maggie knew. She knew the boys weren't involved in drugs. Paul and Jared were newfound best friends. Had been now for about a year since first phasing; they did_ everything_ together. And having seen enough new addiction cases on the res, both Maggie and I knew that it was not a singular sort of activity; it was done in groups, and usually alienated the non-users.

I had sort of backed into her question. I couldn't answer her honestly – because there _were_ things I knew that she didn't. But I didn't want to lie to her either. Instead, I hoped I could offer her some peace of mind. Jared and Paul weren't on drugs.

Jared had come home just in time to prevent his mother from divulging _another_ embarrassing childhood story (though she did manage to tell me about the time he'd cried for days because Sam spoiled the concept of Santa for him). I finangled most of the new and spare parts into their proper places, but when it was quarter past five I instructed Jared – who had been watching me previously – on how to finish up the project. I had to go get his best friend from county jail.

* * *

There was a decent amount of paperwork involved in having Paul released. Charlie also handed me the paper work about his court appearance.

"What!" I shrieked. "Charlie you can't," I begged. "If he has this on his record as an adult, he'll never get a job, it'll follow him around everywhere. Please? He'll be miserable."

"Calm it down there, Rachel," Charlie replied in his slow cadence, his mustache bristling. "This is just to appear as a witness against Jesse. Paul agreed to testify against him – along with a few other citizens – in order to get the local dealer off the street for a few years. In exchange, I will not charge him."

"You are a saint, Charlie Swan," I sighed in relief.

"I try," he nodded. "But just know that this is his last shot," he continued sternly. "I know you're not responsible for him, but I may as well read you _his_ riot act since you're the voice of reason in his life. He's of age now, and I can no longer allow him to slip under the wire. It's not good form. He needs to get his anger under control or he'll find himself in a whole mess of trouble with folks stricter than myself."

I glanced at the floor, feeling the parental and official tone roll off him in waves. "Yes, sir."

"All right, I'll go and have him released. You kids stay out of trouble now, y'hear."

And with that, he proceeded out of the small office space and down to where I knew the only two holding cells in Forks were located. I found myself fidgeting in Charlie's absence. At first I couldn't stop jiggling my foot and then I decided pacing would smooth out the jitters. When I realized that made me seem completely manic I went outside.

It was like my emotions – which are normally neat, organized and easily to categorize, if not easy to deal with – had all been spun through a blender. Like I was living through the spin cycle in a washing machine.

I was happy that Paul hadn't been charged with anything; I was proud of him for agreeing to testify against Jesse. I was happy that Paul was coming home. But I was also relieved. It felt like I could breathe again. I didn't know what made me feel so on edge about Paul being gone. Jake's absence made me unbearably sad – even thinking about it still made my heart hurt. I instinctively wrapped my arm around my abdomen. Now I understood where the Swan girl was coming from with all those weird antics in the Cullens' absence. I flung my arm down immediately after the thought passed, refusing to be like _that_ even in the absence of my closest friend.

I continued pacing in the parking lot in front of the truck Jake and I used to share. I thought that maybe it wasn't Paul's absence that made me edgy. It was that same feeling I had yesterday when I went for my run. It was my mother's absence years and years prior, and my brother's absence, and now Paul's absence. It was the series of absences that left me feeling alone – like I'd drown in the world without my family. My logical side told me that I shouldn't have been running from them all those years.

Buried under the relief and anxiety was anger. I was mad. I was mad at Paul. He screwed up big time. Charlie was right. He lost his temper and hurt Jesse. Not that the guy didn't deserve it, but Paul could have hurt him far beyond any normal man. He could've lost control, risked his safety and the security of the entire Pack. All for one idiot. So much damage was barely avoided that day. I couldn't believe how irresponsible…

I wasn't able to get any further in my volatile mental dialogue.

"Rachel," a familiar voice interrupted me. I stopped my pacing and looked up. Paul was standing just outside the Forks Police Department door, in the clothes he had put on the day I made him come grocery shopping. He watched me carefully trying to gauge my reaction. I took a few steps closer, my face flat. He closed the gap, shuffling towards me with his head down. To the outsider, having one Paul Lahote – at six foot four – walk sheepishly to his five foot nine girlfriend might have been comical.

His breathing was deep, but measured and when he looked at me, my heart almost broke. But I wouldn't crack under his puppy dog eyes. He scared the crap out of me and his actions had made me miserable. Not to mention, put the whole Pack on edge.

Without even thinking about it, I reached and slapped my hand across his face. I don't even know what possessed me to do it. As my hand finished its path of destruction, it snapped up to my mouth in shock. It wasn't the first time I'd hit Paul (and it wouldn't be the last) but I hadn't been planning on it and I hadn't expected it. It was as if my arm moved of its own accord.

Of course it hadn't hurt him, but he seemed to be expecting it more than I was. He just nodded once and then bent down and picked me up off the ground, his arms wrapped around my waist as he pulled me towards himself. He exhaled, hot breath against my shoulder. "God I missed you…"

I extricated my arms from Paul's embrace and pressed against his shoulders, forcing him away from me – despite how much better, calmer the contact made me feel.

I stared at him, my mouth tight and my expression stony. "You can't do this anymore, Paul. You can't ever do that to me again."

"I'm sorry Rachel. I'm so fucking sorry. You must've been worried sick."

I glanced down, unable to bravely reconcile the way I'd been feeling, and nodded. Paul recognized the uncharacteristic submissiveness immediately. "Rach…" he reached tentatively for my hand and when I didn't make any move away from him he held onto it lightly. "Rachel, honey? Talk to me."

"You disappeared on me," I sighed, watching our feet. "First my mom, and then years later now Jake is gone and I feel like a child all over again and just when I think I'm starting to be able to cope with it like a normal freaking person, I come outside and find out that you're getting arrested and my dad totally knows and I still feel all alone and panicky like I'm lost and nothing but hyperconcentration on Margaret Cameron's hot water heater has helped me at all."

My eyes pricked at the edges but no tears fell. Paul, still an arm's distance away processed all my pent up psychobabble. He swallowed and then, in a stilted voice asked, "Can I hug you?"

I only nodded and he pulled me towards himself almost instantly. Pressed against his torso, it was warm and firm and comfortable and I finally couldn't help but give in. There weren't any theatrical sobs and tears. But I was more upset and relieved than I'd ever been in my entire life.

"You're never alone, Rach," Paul muttered against the top of my head. "You have your Dad and your sister. And Jake's out there and would come back in a moment if you needed him. You have the whole Pack: Sam, Emily, Jared, Kim, Embry, Brady, Collin, Leah, Quil, heck even little Claire. They love you like family. That's what Pack is. You'll never be alone."

"It's not the _same_," I mumbled like a child. Of course I knew the Pack was my family. They were the only things that had gotten me through Jake's and now Paul's absence, but I couldn't live my life only barely held together by my loved ones.

"I know," he agreed. "But you don't have to worry. I'm not going anywhere ever again. I promise."

Things changed from that point. I didn't really notice or trace it back until much later, but Paul tells me his wolf knew that at that point – when we were standing in the Forks PD parking lot, with him unshowered for two days and me an emotional mess – is when we were mated. He promised never to abandon me again and on a subconscious level I gave into the imprint.

I hadn't been actively resisting it before, but how you can you so easily cave to a lifelong commitment to a guy who's inner wolf decides you're the one? So I gave it time. And several months after that awkward and fate-filled New Year's party on first beach I submitted to the imprint. And I don't view it as a bad thing. I hardly jumped headlong into this like Kim did and I definitely didn't fight it and submit nearly as quick as Emily. Paul is maybe the only one that gets anything close to a decent look at how the other relationships progressed – and the wolves are very fond of keeping their imprinted lives personal. But I suppose we developed as naturally and normally as possible given the circumstances.

From my first days back in La Push I had a new found and built-in support system. One that I was skeptical of, but intrigued by. I don't regret pursuing a relationship with Paul and I'm glad we moved slowly. And although I'm sure he would have been game for almost anything, he always went along with my wacky ideas. For months we were chaste and friendly and I cried on his lap and argued with him and smacked him around. For months he worried incessantly about my being attacked again and detoured around my property during his patrols.

But all the ragged bumps evened out as we trod them down. They're still there: he still worries and I still argue with him a lot, but it's a pattern and one we've become used to. Or almost, dare I say, happy?

I don't know what I was expecting when I came January after I finished school. It sure as heck wasn't a lifelong romantic commitment or vampires or my brother's sordid love life. But despite it's ridiculousness, I'm glad I know.

I'm glad I came home.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
